


Nemesis

by Forcefingeys (Mysecretfanmoments)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Post-TLJ, Slow Burn, TLJ Spoilers, Trust Issues, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unwanted Attraction, extreme levels of virginity on both sides, rey tries to sabotage kylo's career and ends up making him like her even more
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-03-18 00:38:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 68,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysecretfanmoments/pseuds/Forcefingeys
Summary: In the weeks after the battle on Crait, Rey struggles to maintain a suitably antagonistic air. Fart jokes and wookie calls during important meetings are meant to make Kylo hate her, but her guerrilla tactics seem to have an opposite effect. As time passes and Kylo's anger refuses to meet hers, she starts to consider joining him again—if only to keep the Resistance safe.





	1. Desperate Times

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Star Wars sequel trilogy,
> 
> If you thought you could hand me DESTINED ENEMIES (???) who communicate secretly by SHOWING UP AT RANDOM TIMES TO EACH OTHER and CANONICALLY KICK BUTT TOGETHER and I wouldn't ship it, you were 500% mistaken. You played yourself. Or me. Or all of us. I'm not sure but someone got played and it was probably me.
> 
> Dear readers,
> 
> I hope you enjoy!! With huge thanks to Gin/Eicinic for laughing with me about this, falling into this with me... and also for her beautiful chapter illustrations (which I'll never be over). LET'S HAVE FUN! I have a lot of this written (but not all the way edited) and will be updating regularly!

 

* * *

 

 

The bond was meant to begin and end with Snoke, but it didn’t. A lot of things in Rey’s life seemed to work that way: her parents were meant to come back, but they didn’t. Luke was meant to save the world when she showed up with his lightsaber, but he didn’t. She was meant to return to the resistance triumphant with Ben Solo in tow… but she didn’t. They were all pretty pictures, convenient fantasies, but these things never seemed to work out in her favour; they were all meant to happen, and yet, they didn’t.

She stood with her arms folded, her back to Kylo Ren, and reviewed all these things that were _meant_. She did so resentfully, uncomfortably, as she had during all their other silent visits since she closed the Falcon door between them on Crait, anger simmering between them.

That righteous anger was beginning to dim to something like resignation.

Behind her, Kylo let out a breath. It sounded as put-upon as she felt, even though he had no right to be bitter about the bond. It was _his_ master who’d done this. Or did killing Snoke absolve him of that guilt?

He continued to read whatever report he was looking at. She imagined what it might say: _Evil forces win again. Maximum evil output achieved. My, aren’t we doing well! Rebels continue to be outmatched in every single way…_

She really ought to be trying to read over his shoulder, gathering information if the report was even visible to her, but she didn’t have the heart for it. _Disheartened_. That was the word for it. Kylo Ren walked around in black glass palaces, surrounded by more troops than he knew what to do with, and Rey and her resistance clung to the barest strip of hope with bloody fingernails. It was anything but fair.

These visits had started out unwelcome, too, but for a while they’d been special to Rey—an opportunity. After the drama of their fallout, his attack on Crait, there was no way they could go back to the visits being special—or even normal. She and Kylo Ren didn’t _have_ a normal—but that dramatic closing door was meant to signal an ending. It wasn’t meant to be a continuation, an _I’ll see you later._ Kylo had tried to stamp them all out. Without Luke, he would have killed or captured all of the fleeing resistance, and she wouldn’t have been able to save them in time. The shots fired at the Falcon were nothing compared to that; they were just confirmation of what she already knew: that he’d kill her, now, if he could. She’d been prepared to do the same to him.

They were meant to be enemies now, _real_ enemies like they’d been before, and the bond undercut that whenever it snapped into place. It told her to try again, to believe again.

 _Stop it_ , she told the imagined thread between her and Kylo, putting her will behind it. It remained firm, present; she imagined it hooked behind her navel invisibly, with her the hapless fish. Her hands couldn’t close on it, but they tightened into fists anyway.

Would the bond allow stomach punches, or did they both have to want it for touch to happen? Unwillingly she remembered the way they’d touched on the island, when he took off his glove. She was scared to try physical violence, in light of that; what if a punch showed him everything, all her surroundings, where exactly in the universe the resistance was? It couldn’t be risked.

Still, it was tempting.

The Kylo in her vision turned suddenly—she wasn’t watching him, she _wasn’t,_ she just saw it peripherally—and she looked in the direction he did, but there was nothing there in her world. For all intents and purposes Kylo was a holo on the Falcon, staring at walls. He stood, though.

Their eyes met as he glanced at her, expression wary, mouth tight.

He didn’t want her near, and so of course she drew closer.

“Yes,” he said to a voice she didn’t hear. She sidled closer again.

“You don’t need my permission for that,” he added. She narrowed her eyes, peered at him, then at the stretch of wall he looked at.

 _Appear_ , she commanded silently. If she couldn’t see who Kylo was talking to, if she couldn’t hear them, these sessions would be useless. They’d just be torturous exposure to a man she hadn’t been able to save, who’d let anyone die for his vision. But if she could _see_ …

“I see,” Kylo said. She jumped. For a moment it sounded like he was responding to her—but he was nodding at the person or droid or sentient tree in front of him. His expression turned thoughtful; he glanced at her again. Her heart jumped with the tiniest lance of fear—she’d drawn very close in her bid to eavesdrop—but she steadied herself against the impulse to draw back. She wasn’t scared of him.

She _wasn’t_.

“I’ll send along my orders,” Kylo said. She let out an annoyed breath, and he looked away.

Was it hard for him to focus, with her breathing down his neck? She thought of Luke’s expectant gaze when she trained, his annoying habits, how she could _feel_ his stare sometimes.

 _Hmm,_ she thought, a plan forming. It was childish. It was definitely childish—but Luke had been just the same, except coming from the other end of the age spectrum. And wasn’t he a legendary Jedi, the way she was meant to be someday?

Low blows were still blows, after all.

Kylo was still looking at the unseen intruder. She moved around him to stand roughly where the interloper did.

“We have a problem,” she said brusquely. She imitated the stance of a First Order officer, rigid, like there was a stick up her butt. Kylo’s gaze sharpened. She lifted her chin. “Farts on this spaceship are at an all-time high. We’re having trouble with the gas exchanger—”

The sharp look shuttered into something different. His eyelids came down, his stance shifted, and when he looked up again he seemed further away, though neither of them had moved from their spots. She bit back a grin.

Annoyed, was he?

“Commander Hux—” she started, and Kylo interrupted with,

“That won’t be necessary.”

He was still talking to the person. She stifled a laugh. How hard could she make this for him?

“Commander Hux is _especially_ farty,” she said, persevering. “We think there might be a smaller version of him inside of him, just rotting away. And then there are all the guys in weird helmets—famous for their egg farts, you know. Always. We were hoping you could use the Force to stopper—”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Kylo said. It sounded like his teeth were gritted, which made it hard not to laugh. Oh, this could be an okay use of her time after all. Not something she’d ask for—but useful nonetheless. She wondered if Luke would be proud.

“Use the Force to stopper their butts, Sir Supreme Leader, at least between poops. It’s our only hope.”

His gaze flicked down to meet hers, then back up at the unknown. His manner was cool as anything, and she broke into an improvised song, using a familiar melody Poe liked and swapping in words about the farting epidemic in the First Order.

Kylo stood, and stood, and stood, hands clasped behind his back, face serious, and then he nodded and looked at her.

“Are you satisfied?” he asked. She stopped singing and stepped away. The person was gone, obviously, so there was no need for her to distract him. These words were the first he’d said to her in a long time—in several awkward, silent visits.

She didn’t respond. It was fine to make life difficult for him, but to talk like they had before? That would only lead to misery. He was the leader of the First Order, not a confidante. Certainly not a friend.

If it was up to him, they’d all die.

“I see it’s back to silence now,” he said. “Has anyone ever told you your humour is that of a child?”

There wasn’t much call for jokes in the resistance, but she wouldn’t tell him that; she didn’t want him to know how grim their lives had become, always on the run. Still, when she did tell jokes, Finn tended to laugh. Of course, Finn had grown up just as isolated as she had, in his way, and they were probably both childlike in Kylo’s eyes—but wasn’t Kylo childish too, with his anger?

At least her childish humour never killed anyone. She crossed her arms again, lifted her shoulders up to her neck: closed off once more. The weight of the air was crushing again, and she couldn’t wait for the bond to drop. No matter the temporary reprieve, no matter how amused she’d been while she teased, the fact was that Kylo was her enemy.

She wouldn’t bicker with him, wouldn’t acknowledge him in any way when it was just them.

He let out a breath. “You could at least—” he started, but she didn’t hear what she could at least do, because the connection dropped at long last. The air cleared, and the tension in her shoulders dissipated. She sighed with relief.

The hum of the engine had never gone away, but it was louder now. Somehow Kylo’s presence deafened her to the real world, pulled at all her senses until a space filled with just the two of them. The clanking of the Falcon was comforting, though she watched the door guiltily. She’d run into this hold room when the pressure in her head mounted, trying to get away from the others, and she’d succeeded. They’d be wondering where she’d gone, what she’d run off to do.

She wanted to tell them—except she didn’t. It seemed shameful. _I share a bond with Kylo Ren_ , she imagined herself saying. _We appear to each other. Sometimes in states of undress_.

She gritted her teeth. That had been a bad time, when she and Kylo had appeared to each other while she was in her underclothes. She’d watched his eyes widen, skim her body—before he looked resolutely away. They’d both pretended nothing had happened, but the boyish response unnerved her. That look of surprise had been just that: surprise. Not evil smarminess. Not the knowing look men sometimes got around barely-dressed women.

It would be better if he was smarmy, like Snoke. Or if he’d been gross and knowing about it, lording the view over her, insulting her build or her underclothes—or even worse, complimenting her. Instead, he’d seemed more vulnerable for a moment than even she felt, and she was the one with most of her skin showing.

 _Ugh_. She put the memory from her mind, shivered, and tried to find her cheer from earlier. There was no telling when they’d appear to each other next, but at least now she had a plan to be as annoying as possible. It wasn’t much of a strategy, but it was something, and she didn’t have to worry about him doing it back; she wasn’t the one stuck in a place where no one had a sense of humour. If her friends found out about the bond or caught her talking to herself, it would be awkward, but she could get through it.

He might have an insurgency on his hands, though. She wondered what it would look like. Could people in the First Order strike? Would he have to force choke all of them to restore order? She’d like that; he’d be doing the rebels’ job for them.

If only Rose would wake from the healing pod. Finn said Rose had a tendency to talk and talk once she got started, and she’d grown up with an older sister. Weren’t siblings meant to be experts at this kind of warfare? Then again, Rose had lost her sister; perhaps it would be better not to ask.

Rey would have to think of things on her own. It couldn’t be too hard, right? Children did it all the time, and she was supposed to be childish. She smiled and opened the door back to the rest of the ship, and let Kylo’s imagined frustration bring her a sense of peace.


	2. Restless

After the fart joke interlude, Rey found herself almost looking forward to the next force bond meeting. The potential to annoy Kylo Ren wasn’t much in the way of revenge in the middle of nothing, of being on the run and scraping by—but it was _something._ In quiet moments she found herself planning jokes, ways to be difficult, but of course the world intervened; she was under some kind of curse, maybe.

She was half asleep on the floor of a hold room with other members of the resistance when the pressure in her head mounted and she sensed him again. He lay behind her, in the space between her and a neighbour, and for the moment she had her back to him.

Shivers chased each other up and down her spine. Did he sense her too? Was she in his bedchamber, maybe even in his bed? The connection between them—the imagined situation that had seemed so funny earlier—lost all its humour in the face of that question. Her stomach twisted with all the ways it wasn’t funny, and she rolled onto her back, too antsy to pretend she sensed nothing.

Very carefully, she looked to her left, where she felt him. He was on his side facing her. There was nothing keeping their eyes from meeting, even in the dimness.

Electricity shot through her at the eye contact, and fear. Why now? Why had the bond kicked in when she was sleep-slow and vulnerable? She tried to gather herself, calling on all those years as a scavenger, when anyone could wander in and try to take what wasn’t theirs; it was some sort of practice for this, surely. Outwardly she didn’t move, but inside of her skull she built layer upon layer.

It didn’t feel like enough. She wished she was back in the doorway of the Falcon, with him looking up. She wished she was looking down instead of across.

Still they said nothing.

Could he speak, if he wanted to? There was no one with him at night, surely; he wouldn’t trust anyone like that, not after that night he’d woken to Luke standing over him—so he might make this even harder than it had to be. She looked up at a ceiling of pipes and waited, trying to focus on the breathing of the sleeping resistance members around her. If she could just settle herself in her own reality, maybe he’d disappear—but it never did work that way. He remained solid as ever on the floor of the Falcon.

“You’re not alone,” he said at last, after such a long time she almost thought she imagined it. She glanced at him sharply. For a moment, it had sounded like that other assurance, on Ahch-To. The one she’d responded to with _neither are you_. But no: he meant in the room. He meant he knew she couldn’t speak, because there were others around her.

Or did he know? Perhaps he was guessing. She couldn’t see his surroundings, and he wasn’t meant to see hers—but he’d been exposed to the Force longer. Might he get more out of the bond than she did?

She looked back up at the pipes and swallowed, hoping the light was dim where he was too. She didn’t want him to see her like this, defenceless on her back, waiting for the next daylight cycle to dispel the night’s fears. Scavengers from Jakku didn’t fear the dark; they only feared the cold of the desert night, and the Falcon was climate controlled.

She wasn’t afraid.

He shifted. She didn’t watch him shift, but it was as if it didn’t matter. Her awareness still included every inch of him, and knew when he propped himself up on his elbow, watching her.

“I suppose I could try to return the favour,” he said. “Make you cry out. Make them wonder what’s going on with you.”

She didn’t respond, though if she could have—if she was talking to him, which she wasn’t—she would have told him the villain act didn’t work well with his voice sleep-rough, his mouth hesitant to form the threatening words.

“I doubt I could make you laugh,” he added. She kept her eyes on the ceiling, doubting it too. The image of Kylo Ren singing off-key about farts just felt sick, given his past and his chosen future. He was a killer; it wasn’t really funny under any circumstance.

She sensed him lying back down next to her, mimicking her posture so they stared at the ceiling side-by-side.

“I sense your frustration,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I feel it too.”

 _Then give up_ , she wanted to say. _Make it easy instead of hard_.

“Is it just the bond, or is it something else? Your situation?” She felt him turn his head, looking at her again. The side of her face prickled with his attention. “Do you feel hopeless, on the run like you are?”

 _We’re not on the run_ , she thought at him. Even the Force didn’t allow telepathy, but she continued despite that: _It’s a strategic retreat_.

The general had joked about that in a meeting not long ago. Everyone else had caught on before Rey had; she’d needed the others to chuckle to realise it was a joke. Even Finn, with his childhood of horrors, could read meaning better than she could.

It was a lack in her. She couldn’t afford to be lacking, but she wasn’t sure how to make up the difference. Luke called her headstrong, said she lacked subtlety, but he hadn’t taught her how to be subtle and not-headstrong. He’d only sighed at her, despaired of her ever learning.

Luke had saved them all. He was a hero, but if she was totally honest—and she wouldn’t say this out loud to anyone except maybe Leia, who knew him best—he was kind of a dick. She wondered if he’d always been that way, or if years of drinking glowing snout-monster milk had warped him.

She wanted to ask Leia about it—but it had never come up, what with them on the run all the time.

“You could nod, or shake your head, and no one would be the wiser,” Kylo said. He was trying to sound distant, like an observer, but she could sense how much he wanted a response. It prejudiced her against giving one—but it was hard to just lie back and pretend not to hear him when she did.

She managed to stay still, though.

His breath gusted out. She could imagine it stirring the hairs on her forehead, and wasn’t sure whether it was really his breath or her imagination. Could they touch again, like this? She hated him. He would have let the entire resistance die, would have killed or imprisoned her—but there was a part of her that longed for the reassurance of touch. Like she could reach him again.

_Wake up Finn, then. Or Poe. Or even the general._

Somehow, though, those touches didn’t draw her the same way. She longed for the intimacy of this bond—the secrecy and the feeling that came over her when it activated. No wonder it had misled her at first. There was no one else appearing to her at night, talking softly to her when everyone else slept. There was a guarantee in this undesirable situation: that somehow, some way, they’d always come back to each other. It was an addicting feeling, even with Kylo Ren on the other side of the tie. She’d preferred it when she could call him Ben in good faith, when her hope could blind her.

“Were you restless?” Kylo asked suddenly, into the long silence. “I wonder if it’s frame of mind. Do we appear to each other when we’re in the same emotional state, or—”

She turned her head away, and he stopped. The breath she took was determinedly slow, so he wouldn’t be able to tell anything from it, but she didn’t know if she succeeded. Of course she was restless. Sleeping on the Falcon, with so many people around her, the air warm from the machinery—of course it was difficult. She had to work herself to exhaustion every day they spent in transit, or she wouldn’t be able to get to sleep.

“Were you restless?” he asked again.

She couldn’t let herself respond—but she stared back up at the ceiling, and perhaps her chin ducked just slightly, or her eyelids fluttered, because he exhaled as if she’d nodded.

“Of course you were,” he said. Did he know about Jakku? The cold nights, the empty spaces, the solitude? Or did he just assume they were the same, always?

She let herself turn her head to meet his gaze. There was a current upon making eye contact, and he seemed to be waiting for something—but she said nothing. And then he winked out.

A harsh breath left her, relief or some other, sharper emotion. It felt almost like pain. She curled up on her side, shivering despite the heat. She’d been so triumphant the time before; the night time visit and Kylo’s quiet voice were an intrusion. She didn’t want to remember the intimacy of the bond, how it made her worst enemy feel closer and realer than all the things and people around her.

She closed her eyes tightly, and thought of what she could do next time to show him up. She didn’t care how ridiculous she made herself. She wouldn’t stop until he was foaming-at-the-mouth angry, until his humourless nature overcame him and made him lash out. His imagined response was the only thing that could keep her from remembering that night in the hut, his fingers against hers, the held breath between them making it seem like they had only one set of lungs, one heart, one purpose. She had to forget. She had to forget.

She would forget, and she would move on. She would make him and herself ridiculous, and it would be possible to take the next steps toward the future. But for now… for now, she couldn’t sleep for fear of dreaming of him. She stood up, folded up her bedroll, and headed for the front of the ship.

The cockpit could do with a check-up, and she could do with a task.


	3. Defeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who kudo'd/bookmarked/commented! Cx A note: I uploaded chapters 1 and 2 simultaneously and it seems people didn't realise 2 was there, so for the record this is 3. Please check that you've read the one before. I hope you'll enjoy!

Rey was relieved to feel the ground beneath her feet again at their resupply stop. True to form, the planet they landed on was so backwater the First Order had probably mistaken it for a blip, but places didn’t have to be vibrant hubs of activity to be important to the fleeing resistance. Beggars weren’t choosers, and the further off the map, the better—at least for now.

Data in the form of the general’s personal notes showed the largest market on-planet was near an inlet on one of the few landmasses, and they parked the Falcon well uphill of it on the sparse landscape. The view was just scrub, succulents, rubble. Hills in the distance promised unknown horizons—but from flying overhead, Rey knew better. There was nothing but the same behind them. Coastal desert wasn’t much more interesting than landlocked desert, and the place could be a cousin to Jakku, but right now Rey wasn’t picky.

She walked into the sunlight and stretched luxuriously, not worrying about banging into pipes or walls—and decided that even backwater planets were all right, as long as they had gravity and light and breathable air. It felt so, so good not to be enclosed any more. She looked back at the resistance remainder coming down the gangplank of the Falcon, the general bringing up the rear—and decided she didn’t have to act professional in front of this ragtag group. She began to run, then sprint, then leaped into cartwheels. Hooting from behind told her Poe and Finn were watching.

“Wait up!” Finn called. “No, wait. Run back here and do it again. Teach me? I need to express my love for solid ground too.”

Rey was dizzy from a succession of cartwheels, but the sun on her skin made her giddy. She couldn’t resist showing off. She ran at Finn—and swapped cartwheels for flips, hand over hand, making him groan-laugh.

“Show-off,” he told her. He gestured at her and asked Poe beside him: “Is she using the Force for this? Can you tell?”

“She’s using the Force,” Poe said, winking at Rey. “I can feel it. A _lot_ of Force.”

Rey bit back a grin as Finn’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re kidding,” Finn said to Poe. He looked to Rey for confirmation. “He’s kidding, right? Isn’t he?”

A chuckle from Leia drew them all up. They turned to look at her where she stood falsely demure, leaning on her adopted cane.  

“It’s nice to see you all having fun,” she said, “but I’m going to ask you to split up. Rey—will you stay here and protect the Falcon?”

Rey’s giddiness stuttered to an abrupt halt. She looked at her commander, confused.

“I should be at the market, protecting you.”

Last planet, Leia had paraded her around like some kind of performer—the hope of the Jedi, returned to grace the galaxy. And now she was on guarding the ship?

“Different people need different kinds of hope,” Leia said, correctly guessing at the source of her confusion. “Here, I’d like to take Finn around. The others will be protection enough.”

Rey tilted her head, brow furrowed.

“The Jedi Order are not particularly… _popular_ , here,” Leia translated for her. She said it with her usual frankness, her tone wry. “Don’t take it personally.”

“They wouldn’t know I was trained by a Jedi—”

“For the moment,” Leia interrupted, “the Falcon is the only vessel the resistance has. _The only vessel_. A single general, by comparison…”

 _This job is important_ , Leia was saying. Rey wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth—if she really needed a competent guard for the ship—but she swallowed, nodded.

“I understand.”

Rey had just… sort of hoped to visit the market. It was hard to be cooped up for so long, with all the same people. She wanted to have fun.

She wanted to feel her connection to the others out in the daylight, instead of that other, looming connection in the dark.

“You accept your task?” Leia asked.

Rey saluted, and the corner of the general’s mouth tipped up.

“Don’t use Poe as the model for your salute,” Leia said. “His has too much flair.”

Poe gasped in pretend-shock. “General…!”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re mortified, I’m sure. Can’t believe I’d ever accuse you of such a thing. Let’s move, everyone—I want to make it there and back before nightfall.”

The group slid into formation, and then Rey was watching them all leave, at loose ends with only the ship and an unconscious Rose for company; even BB8 was heading out. She watched them go with deep reluctance, not sure how to argue her point without admitting to all the things she was avoiding talking about.

“This is fine,” she told a cactus, wandering up to it to examine it more closely. She reached out and pricked a finger on one of its spines, then sucked the fingertip into her mouth. Yep. It hurt. She spun around, trying to remember her elation from earlier: ground! Sunlight! She scrubbed her face with her hands, and executed more cartwheels and flips. Planet! A real planet!

_Come on, mood!_

The effort was well-intentioned but useless. Half an hour later found her sitting on a rocky outcropping, arms around her knees, making stones fly in formation with the Force. She wondered whether Luke would approve or disapprove.

 _Approve_ , she thought. Luke liked self-pitying aimlessness—or if he didn’t like it, he at least indulged in it an awful lot. She spun the stones in a circle, made them into a little tornado that kicked up dust. When she allowed them to drop, she sensed insects skittering below the ground, concerned with the activity.

She let out a deep sigh—and felt a shiver in the next moment.

Building pressure, and then a strong sense of presence.

In this almost-desert, there weren’t many other people it could be. Even without looking up she could feel the shape of him in the air, the particular wavelength that spelled out _Kylo Ren_. They sat like that for a while, in shared silence, pretending not to notice each other. It was a return to their earlier unspoken arrangement.

 _Come on, Rey_ , she thought. She’d been so determined to make fun of him. She just needed to gather herself up, dust herself off, and get started. _Go, go, go._

Her mental pep-talk was interrupted when he said, dry as anything, “What do the reports say?”

She perked up, head swinging round to look at him. He wasn’t just sitting there in silence ignoring her—he was in a meeting.

This was exactly what she’d hoped for.

She got off her throne of rocks, wandering over to where Kylo Ren sat on a boulder as if it was a chair, his posture tight. The glance he sent her way was there and gone, but that tiny acknowledgement—and his discomfort—were all she needed.

She began stretching, reaching first one way then the other, legs wide, hands reaching. When she’d stretched, she hopped on the spot to warm up. Desert sunlight beat overhead.

“Explain,” Kylo said, but he was sending more glances her way. It was hard to focus on the rest of the world when these moments happened; she knew that as well as he did. And this time he was the one at a disadvantage.

“Explain what, Ben?” she asked. The use of his name made him jerk in his seat, shift. She hadn’t imagined the reaction he had to it, then—and it felt almost wrong to use that name now, with them at odds. _Ben_ was the name she had for him when she still thought things might be fixed.

 _Are they unfixable now, then?_ she wondered.

He didn’t respond, because his world was full of First Order officers. She circled him slowly, imagining some dark conference room, all geometric shapes and heavy silence. Around her the wind blew, the sun shone. Could he sense it?

“I’m not sure about fart jokes, just now,” she said. She sighed heavily. “Not in the mood, you know? The muse isn’t with me.”

She bounced again, and executed a cartwheel as Kylo asked another question. She could feel his divided attention, and in a better mood she would have felt more triumphant. As it was, she began to close the distance between them, probably walking through some First Order conference table. She stopped right in front of the seated Kylo and knelt, looking up into his eyes.

He resisted for a moment—but the current between them was too strong. His eyes flicked down. She met them head-on, took a breath—and made the most obnoxious, drunk Wookie call she could manage.

His head jerked up, mouth clamping shut fast. She bit her lip. Okay, better. _Better_.

“That’s not acceptable,” he said to one of the people in his world.

She gasped. “It’s not?” She tilted her head back, and called even louder in Wookie—how offended she was, and how her clan would fight his for the indignity. At least, that was what she tried to say; she was told her pronunciation was awful.

Again he couldn’t quite ignore it.

She laughed. The sourness from earlier was leaving her. This was what she’d needed, after all: a chance to show Ren their bond was nothing to her. That they weren’t connected in any significant way beyond the hand Snoke had dealt them. She needed to shake off the heavy weight of responsibility, needed to forget she’d ever thought she could convert him.

Time to diversify. The Wookie calls were too predictable now, and besides, she’d prepared more. She picked herself up and began to wander behind him, humming. There was a song Poe was always singing under his breath when he wasn’t paying attention, and the melody always got caught between her ears. She hummed it now, her voice as tuneless as she could make it. When this proved easy for Kylo to ignore, she added words, singing a choice song about the First Order.

Sometime during the song, Kylo stood. When she saw his face it was tight, jaw clenched. She needed something worse. It was obviously a bad situation over there. He looked stressed, a moment from losing control. This was the time to pull out the big guns, such as they were.

She came to stand beside him, mimicking his tense stance. When he glanced over she raised her hand to her face purposefully.

His eyes flicked up to the occupants of the room, narrowed, then looked back at her. She took a breath. He watched, seemingly despite himself—and she blew the loudest raspberry she ever had against her palm.

He choked on a laugh, his chin jerking down, head turning away. The surprise turned her body cold. _No, wait_ —his eyes met hers, then focused determinedly on something else. His tight posture had loosened. She’d _relaxed_ him.

_No!_

He was amused. She felt the sense of control she’d been grabbing at turn to loose reeds, pulled up from the earth. She needed his anger, his self-importance, not this strange camaraderie. She wanted to shove him, yell at him.

Who was the angry one, now? She clenched her teeth, berated herself in silence, but it was too late to change anything. His laughter had robbed her of the distance she’d fostered, made their bond a secret between them again. She should have told the others. She should have begged the general to let her accompany her to civilisation.

“Would you like to explain why you sound like a native speaker of Shyriiwook?” Kylo asked, voice hard to hear over self-recriminations. It took her a moment to realise he was talking to her. She looked around for the people who’d been with him, as if she could see them.

“One of your many talents, I suppose,” Kylo continued.

Rey looked at him. She felt itchy beneath her clothes, restless. She hadn’t been trying to amuse him. Why hadn’t he gotten angry?

“Shut up,” she mumbled.

She didn’t know what Shyriiwook was. Wookie? Did he mean Wookie? She didn’t know there was another name for the language, and anyway, her pronunciation was terrible.

He stood very near, looking down at her bent head. “If I pretend to be inconvenienced, will you speak?”

“Are you that desperate for company?” she bit out. “Aren’t you trying to stamp us out?”

“‘Us’?” he said, his levity gone. He didn’t step back, but she felt a chill.

“Yes,” she said, drawing herself up and meeting his gaze. “Us. You know who I mean.”

He wasn’t dumb enough to think she’d be with anyone but the resistance.

His jaw worked. “You’re too desperate to belong. You could—”

“They’re good people,” she interrupted. _And too few_. How could they possibly make a difference, with their forces decimated? No one had answered the call. The general might seem tireless to others, but Rey saw her how she truly was: exhausted. In pain. Only her upbringing kept her spine straight, her chin high. Rey admired her, wished she could emulate her. She tried to now, tipping her own chin up.

Kylo watched—and eventually the chill went out of the breeze. It was all humid heat around her once more.

“You’ll change your mind,” was all he said.

“When?”

He shrugged loosely. “When we catch up with you. A week from then, a month, a year—it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re that confident?”

“About?” he asked.

“Wiping us out,” she said, aware now how that _us_ would needle him. She was starting to understand—but only barely. She was no Leia Organa.

“Yes.”

Then—“And the other?”

He took her in, but he was less confident in this, now, in his ability to change her mind; she could sense it. She’d rejected him once before. “Yes.”

She looked away. He moved to stand before her, hands rising. “Rey—”

For just a moment she felt the tension between them, his longing thick in the hot air. His gloved hands were reaching to touch her, to hold on so perhaps he could shake her, and she didn’t move. She didn’t know what she wanted, with his feelings clouding her judgment, fooling her into thinking she wanted the connection too—and then it was gone. The pressure dropped, nearly popping her ears. She sagged, coughed a breath, and stooped, overwhelmed. He was gone. He was gone, gone, gone—again. And the illusion of power had gone with him.

She was one person on the run, with a gaggle of resistance members and an old ship. He was the supreme leader of the First Order, entire systems at his beck and call. What was she playing at?

She’d failed to beat him in the only way she could. Even humour hadn’t given her the upper hand. What was next? Kicking, screaming, yelling? She didn’t want to. It was more undignified than her stupid songs, her jokes. It made her seem helpless. Even if she was helpless, she should never seem it.

Hey—perhaps she was picking things up from the general after all: to never seem weak. For a moment she could feel Leia Organa’s hand on her back, guiding her.

 _Too much sun_ , she thought when the moment ended. She was giving herself airs. She got back into the shade of the Falcon, and resolved to wait until the others were back. For some reason, alone in the shadow of that historic vessel, she felt like crying.

She felt defeated.


	4. Sharing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's commented! I've enjoyed hearing your thoughts so much. Please enjoy the last chapter of part one! The next chapter will be posted Wednesday.

The encounter on the nowhere-planet shifted things, at least in her mind. Her armour was punctured. She’d felt so strong on the Falcon after Luke’s diversion, so sure of herself and the resistance. She knew she’d fight Kylo every chance she got. She could feel her own strength, the power of the universe at her fingertips—but that same universe kept pushing them together, and every meeting was harder on her than on him, sloughing off more of her hard-won certainty. What did she know? How could she fight?

Could she cut him if she tried? Would honesty hurt him—her anger, her pain, her betrayal? She knew he was used to anger—his own, Snoke’s, the First Order’s. Fighting him with her anger seemed like a useless prospect, like fighting a fish with water.

The others noticed her mood, and attributed it to missing out on the market. Well—she _wasn’t_ happy about that, but she wasn’t petty enough to punish them for it. She tried not to be snippish, and focused on chores that kept her busy but out of people’s way. Chewbacca accompanied her frequently, perhaps because he was in his own mood.

_Just me and the Wookie_ , she thought, closer to Han than ever. Perhaps that meant Kylo would kill her, too, though her attempt to use a blaster on his Force-bond-projection back on Ahch-To had been fruitless. Kylo was better than her in his use of the Force, though; he might manage it where she couldn’t.

He got a chance during their next long transit. She was alone in the engine room, sweat plastering her hair to her brow, when the string between them drew taut. She felt him—and a foreign breeze carrying the scent of hot stone and dust, not originating from anywhere nearby. It made her close her eyes with reluctant pleasure, that breeze he carried with him. How had he done it?

“Finally,” he said. Her head felt fuzzy. She couldn’t see him well in the sweltering engine room. She narrowed her eyes, peered.

The world became angled, made her stumble.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to bite down on the panic rising in her throat.

“Sharing,” he said, and the engine room dropped away. She looked beneath her feet and saw soil-covered tech, an incline below her. An overhead structure formed a monster composed of light and darkness, shade and glittering sand. She shielded her eyes, struggling to make sense of things. She was on uneven ground, in what looked like the ruins of a ship.

_Will he kill me?_ she thought briefly. She managed a glance at Kylo, above her on the outcropping and watching intently. Her stomach lurched. For a moment they were in the engine room together, Kylo looming—then back in the desert landscape.

It wasn’t Jakku—the sand didn’t look quite right—but it might as well be: the ruined ship, the colour scheme, the dark unknown depths below this vantage. She fell onto her backside, and used the moment of weakness to backwards-crawl into the shade of the overhang so she wasn’t blinded. Her heart was hammering and her head was swimming with the view.

She was in the engine room—but somehow she was here, too. He’d dragged her here. _Sharing_. How? Could he attack here? Would he?

She kept him in her periphery as she poked a leg out into the sunlight. _Warm_. She could feel it on her skin. What had Kylo done? Her heart drummed with fear. He couldn’t _bring_ her here, could he?

“You don’t have to worry,” he said. She glanced at him. Did he mean it?

She remembered who he was, what they were to each other. Why would she take his word for anything?

“You’d kill me if you could,” she bit out, muscles tensed for an attack.

“I wouldn’t.”

She glared. He would kill her. He _would_. He’d tried, when his people went for the Falcon, when he zeroed in on Crait.

“I wanted to,” he said eventually, meeting her stare. How could he sound so neutral about it? “I wanted to destroy you and everything you cared about.”

She remained silent, angry all over again—remembering what she might have lost.

“I stopped wanting that,” he said.

“Of course you did,” she sniped, not believing it.

“Is it hard to believe? It’s true. You may have noticed I have a temper.”

She fought a roll of her eyes, glaring instead. “You’d just let me go my merry way if you could?”

“You’re not listening,” he said. “I don’t want to destroy you.”

“So you want—what? What do you want, Ben?”

She watched him flinch at the name, watched him shake his head. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t hurt you here. That’s all you need to know.”

The question of why she should believe him remained, though something inside her insisted he was telling the truth. That trusting part of her had been wrong before, and she wouldn’t listen to it; he might say anything to further his agenda, might use her to get to the resistance _._ Her fear clenched all her muscles tight at the threat he posed, not just to her.

He looked down. “A taste of home,” he said, unprompted.

Her throat was dry. “Home?”

“The planet you were abandoned on,” he said, voice darkening. “You cling to the past so tightly; you must miss it.”

Annoyance batted at her fear, shrank it. “You’re trying to prove a point?”

His posture loosened. Their eyes met, and though he didn’t move a muscle it was as if a screen lowered between them. Vulnerability—tiredness?—crept into his face. “No.”

She looked away, not sure what to think, and he let the stilted conversation drop.

Time ticked by as she stared out at the view: uneven columns of the grounded ship stretching out like the limbs of a great spider, used-up tech like the ship they inhabited littering the landscape, shimmering blue sky above filled with streamers of heat and dust. Her eyes had adjusted to the brightness, now, and she slid down into the sunlight, letting it coat her skin.

People from Jakku never moved to sit in the sun on purpose. It was a stupid thing to do—but she wasn’t a scavenger from Jakku anymore.

“How are you doing this?” she asked eventually. Her knees were pulled up, her fingers drawing patterns in the sand beside her. The patterns disappeared like a trick of the light, but she could feel the sand for just a moment when she touched it—the trapped heat in every grain.

“It’s no threat to you,” he said quietly, which didn’t answer the question. She ought to turn back, face him as an opponent should, but she kept herself pointed forward. “I can’t hurt you.”

“If you’re not proving a point, and can’t hurt me, why bring me here?” She tried to sound fierce, but real curiosity crept into her voice.

There was no pithy comment, no simmering anger. “I wanted to.”

_Why?_ she thought, but didn’t ask. She sat looking out at some unknown world, from an unknown vantage point, with Kylo Ren behind her as if it was natural, as if he belonged there. His presence made her spine run with shivers, her senses attuned to his threat despite his words.

_‘It’s no threat to you_ ,’ he’d said, and _‘you don’t have to worry’_. Still every part of her braced for a blow that refused to come.

“This is an experiment?” she asked. After an uncomfortable moment, she realised it might not be that benign, even if it wasn’t a threat. It could be a way of showing his power, and how he understood their bond better than she did for all that she had the Jedi texts.

_You’re not special_ , she thought about telling him. _It seems everyone understands everything better than I do._

Thankfully, he’d never witnessed her missing jokes, or having to have things spelled out for her.

“I wondered if it was possible,” he said. “Your reaction says it was.”

“Will you tell me how?”

He regarded her carefully, then shook his head. “I can’t imagine you’d have cause to use it.”

_Cause to use it_ —ah, to show him where she was. Yes, she wouldn’t, but that wasn’t the point, was it? The point was knowing how it worked, and he wasn’t sharing. She wouldn’t ask again. She’d just figure it out herself one day, and show him up.

She stopped contorting to look at him and rubbed at her neck; she was getting a crick in it from looking over her shoulder so much. Perhaps she didn’t have to, after all. Perhaps that _I can’t hurt you_ could be trusted, even if the last thing she wanted was to trust Kylo Ren. It felt too dangerous, somehow—like she’d lose herself.

The lines would blur again. She’d start to hope—but maybe it was okay to stop focusing on him so much. She knew she was fixated on the bond, and it was creating more problems for her than acceptance might. It was an uncomfortable connection—but if she stopped fighting it quite this hard she might get a moment’s rest.

She would accept it reluctantly, just like she had before, when her grief for Han was fresh. It wouldn’t reach the same level of intimacy, not after their spectacular fallout. She was safe from that, she told herself. She stared out at a ruined desert landscape and kept it up, telling herself it was fine—that it would be fine. She could handle this. She was a Jedi, or would be one day.

“If you attack me while my back is turned, I’ll Force-haunt you forever,” she said. Her neck still ached from trying to keep him in sight.

There was a long pause. “Okay,” he said. Then, after a moment: “I wouldn’t. Even if I could. I know you don’t believe me, but it’s the truth.”

“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t believe you.”

It was a lie. She did believe him, for whatever reason. She knew she shouldn’t.

Kylo said nothing more. He let her look her fill, and when the connection dropped it dropped on a companionable silence, one balanced between comfort and discomfort. She wasn’t sure what to make of it.

She stood up from the engine room floor, brushed herself off, and tried to get back to work. She felt off-balance, like the ground beneath her had shifted—and it had.

The door she’d closed between them on Crait had been shut tight. It had promised safety, security, an end—but the end was a lie. The door was open again.

Only time would tell what might step through.


	5. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two begins! The bond is back in business~
> 
> Fun fact: my spellcheck kept changing lightsaber to lightsabre and if it wasn't for our resident super-artist (illustration below!) spotting it I wouldn't have caught it, LOL. In a friend's words re: lightsabres: "a civilized weapon for a frencher age". As always I hope you'll enjoy the chapter, and if you have the time/energy to leave a comment I sure do appreciate it!

 

* * *

 

 

Deciding to let the bond be what it was helped Rey relax. Until she dropped the stiff, ungiving thing inside of her she didn’t know how tightly wound she was, how much she based her days on the fear of giving in, of giving Kylo what he wanted, whatever that was.

Newly resigned to fate, she let the much-resented bond slip back under her skin. There wasn’t much choice in the matter. Either she resisted with everything she was, or it slotted into place. Was it Snoke’s doing, that fit, or had that been chance?

She didn’t _want_ to feel so connected to Kylo Ren. She wasn’t like him. It was easier when he was her project, her conquest—but he wasn’t that, now, either. He was just his quiet, awkward self, and it still exerted a pull she couldn’t ignore.

For all that he would have killed her if he had the chance.

“This is us for a while,” Leia announced, standing in the Falcon passageway where everyone could hear her.

They’d just landed on the planet known as Rah-gul. The continents there hosted a range of ecosystems, many of which were only barely habitable. Nonetheless frequent seismic activity didn’t stop people from settling, and neither did the many storms—but it did make the planet’s surface a difficult place to get to. Rey, who’d never been flight-sick in her life, had to take deep breaths, and most people besides Poe and Leia were clutching stomachs or puke-bags.

“Come on,” Leia said. “Just think: if things go well, you won’t be flying for a whole week. Maybe more.”

There was a groan of acquiescence from the crew, and Rey thought of that: holding still. Taking stock. She felt the bond like a secret weight inside of her. Now she was resigned to it, should she tell? They would be stationary for a while, and it was a danger to the others if Kylo managed to see more during their stay.

The present danger meant she’d have to say something, sooner or later. At least to the general.

“ _This_ is where that amazing doctor lives?” Finn asked. Sweat stood out on his face, and his hand was fisted in his jacket as if for purchase. He brought up his other arm to mop at his brow. She followed his lead, using a trailing bit of fabric from her outfit to wipe the sweat from her face. _Better_.

“You’re misquoting,” Leia said. “I said _a_ doctor lives here. Should be good enough to at least tell us yes or no.”

All of them looked down the hallway, to where Rose was being kept in her coma. She looked really peaceful hooked into the pod, but much longer and the stasis would present its own dangers, from innocuous muscle loss to permanent reduction in brain function. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. Though Rey had never met Rose—not while she was conscious, anyway—Finn’s stories made them friends by proxy.

On wobbly legs, the crew of the Falcon prepared for the trip. Fifteen minutes later they were disembarking, and this time other crew members were forced to stay behind. Rey didn’t have long to be triumphant, though; almost as soon as they were out of the open field they’d landed in, the city in view, Leia drew her aside. She told the others to go ahead and explore.

Wind whipped at them as Leia turned to face Rey, but it was a strange, gusty wind—warm unlike the gales on Ahch-To.

“Feeling better?” Leia asked, eyes shrewd.

“My stomach’s settling,” Rey said, wondering what she had planned.

“Mm. Not what I meant.”

Embarrassment flushed through Rey. “Uh—what?”

“Whatever was bothering you in transit. You seem… calmer.”

Rey nodded jerkily. This was the time, wasn’t it? To confess. Her still-tender stomach twisted. How had the bond become her secret? Why had her initial report excluded its specifics—why had her mouth refused to form the words?

“I take it back,” Leia said, watching her face. “What is it, Rey?”

It felt as if Rey held Kylo inside of her, pressing against the walls of her mind and body, propping her up. If she let out the secret she would collapse.

No—she was being fanciful. Habit of a childhood on Jakku, when there was nothing to entertain her but her imagination. _C’mon, Rey…_ she encouraged mentally.

“Kylo… Ben…” she started, and trailed off. The lines in Leia’s face changed, somehow—and set in an expression of sympathy.

“I understand it’s hard,” Leia said. “No one but you expected you to succeed there. No one but Chewie even knew what you were doing.”

Rey’s throat locked up at Leia’s easy dismissal, because Leia didn’t understand how close she’d come. In her mind Rey was back in that throne room with Snoke’s corpse still warm, Kylo reaching out to her. _You’re nothing, but not to me_. His hand stretching out. She couldn’t have joined him, not without giving up everything she was—but why hadn’t he joined her? If she could have argued better…

It was a well-worn path in her mind. She stepped off it, coughed to clear her throat.

“Do you think anything could convince him?” she asked quietly. She’d try to stay away from the landmarks while they were here, maybe. Then it wouldn’t be a danger. She couldn’t tell Ben’s mother that he lived in her head and still hadn’t returned.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” Leia said. Her voice was rough with longing. “Han couldn’t. You couldn’t. I’m not sure what ideals hold him in thrall—or how they could—but they’re strong.”

Rey ducked her chin, ashamed of her failure.

“I suppose he’d have to care about something else more than he cares about the things he killed for.” Leia shook her head. “I don’t think there’s anything like that anymore—and if there was, he’d still have to admit it to himself. Wiser people than my son have failed to be honest with themselves.”

Familiar frustration balled Rey’s hands into fists. “You’re saying he can’t change course?”

“It would mean admitting what he’s done up until now is wrong. Do you know why gamblers fall into deeper and deeper debt, Rey? It’s because if they stop, it was for nothing. But if they keep going and win…”

She trailed off, meeting Rey’s eyes with a look of significance. _If they keep going and win, it was worth it._ Was that true? Did Kylo want to win? Or did he just not want to lose?

“I don’t understand,” Rey mumbled. “It’s so stupid.”

“Most people are stupid in one way or another,” Leia said, smiling a little. “You might not realise it; you have a remarkable talent for seeing things plainly. Something many lack.”

Rey’s brow wrinkled. _A remarkable talent for seeing things plainly_ sounded like a nice way of saying she was bad at understanding complexity—and it was probably true.

Leia reached out to pat her hand. “It’s a good thing, Rey—”

“It means people can fool me,” she interrupted, voice harsher than she’d meant it to come out. But it was true.

Snoke had trapped her. Kylo Ren might be laying a trap with his _sharing_ and his quiet words. Even Leia could be spinning a different reality for her, just to keep her where Rey needed her to be. Kylo had berated her for always looking for a place to belong, once, and he was right. It _was_ her biggest weakness, so long as she failed to understand the people around her on the kind of level Leia did.

All Rey knew was that the First Order was evil, with a blatant disregard for life that put Jakku’s squabbling traders to shame; she needed to be helping the people most likely to stop it. That was safe, wasn’t it? That wasn’t _looking for her parents in everything_ —even if talks like this with Leia felt like conversations she should have had long ago, before she’d had to flounder about the galaxy making a hundred mistakes.

All the events of the past few weeks felt too fast—but Rey had been too slow. Despite her position with the resistance, she had the constant feeling she’d arrived on the scene too late, when everyone was already decided, and she was the only one who hadn’t made up her mind, who didn’t know what was going on or what she was meant to be.

 _Frustrating_ , she thought, then: _So fix it._ Eyes and ears open, using everything she did have. Like _a remarkable talent for seeing things plainly._

Leia wasn’t done with her. “I suppose it might allow people to fool you,” she said. “So now you know you can be fooled: use that knowledge. Find out what allows people to fool you, ask yourself why you’re doing what you’re doing. Never stop questioning right and wrong. It might mean something different to you than it does to someone else.”

Leia breathed a sigh, then kept on, her voice slow but steady: “You have a difficult journey ahead. You had no teacher before Luke, and I know my brother had his faults. But I’ll tell you—even with teachers, it can be difficult. Every person has to find their own way. I remember—”

“He’s in my head,” Rey blurted, her veins running thick with guilt the more Leia reached out to meet her. She couldn’t tell Leia Kylo Ren lived in her head—but she had to. Leia Organa had to know.

Leia straightened. “Luke? No—Ben. You mean, you sense him at times? I’ve sensed the same—”

Rey shook her head. A gale blew a serrated palm frond into her, and it flapped around her body like a banner until she removed it, throwing it frustratedly downwind. It reminded her of Luke’s mocking on the stone. Was he here now, telling her good job for telling his sister?

More fancies.

“I told you Snoke opened a connection between us, but it’s not—it’s not like the one between you and Luke.” Rey paced, then stopped, urgency in her veins now she’d started the tale. “It’s not just vague sensing. We can talk. When he appears, he’s there with me. He can show me his surroundings. I thought it would stop, but I don’t think it will. I know it’s a danger, and I should have told you sooner, but—”

Leia held up a hand, face very neutral. “Hold on, please.”

Rey stopped the torrent of words wanting to surge from her. She waited for the general to speak again. And waited, and waited. The gusts of wind carried wetness—strange, warm wetness that wasn’t quite rain but soaked into Rey’s clothing nonetheless. Still, she waited for more.

“He can show you his surroundings?”

“Yes. When he wants.”

“And he can see yours?”

Rey shook her head—then stopped. What did she know? “I don’t think so. But I can’t be sure.”

“That changes things,” Leia said, in a voice of defeat—a voice Rey didn’t like. She watched Leia rub between her brows, her back bent. It was a rare moment of weakness.

“I’m all for the resistance,” Rey said, feeling small. “I know it’s a danger, but I really don’t think he can see, and—”

“I need to think about this,” Leia interrupted. “What it means for us. Will you tell me more about it on the way?”

What was there to tell? What could Rey say that didn’t paint her in the mould of some kind of masochist, gravitating towards her own worst enemy? Kylo was the _supreme leader_. He wasn’t some misguided footsoldier. He was the one in charge of their enemy, the ghost that haunted their steps.

“I’ll tell you,” Rey said, quailing. “Do I still get to go down to the city?”

“I’ll… take the risk, for now.” Leia sighed. “Thank you for telling me. I understand it’s awkward, Rey. I know you’re not an enemy, whatever bond exists between you and Ben—but I need to know more.”

Rey’s stomach twisted again. She worried Leia saw too much, could anticipate too much. She didn’t like to think of Snoke, but when she did, she remembered how he’d known she’d come. He’d used Kylo as _bait_. It shouldn’t have worked. Finn and Poe would never have been as foolish as she’d been, trusting some mysterious vision—but Rey had.

She was a child. And Ben was Leia’s child. And she and Ben were…

 _We’re nothing_ , she thought, resolute. They were nothing to each other. They ought to be nothing, but even someone with no insight into relationships, someone like her, could feel the lie there. She shivered in the warm breeze.

“Can we move, General?” she asked. “The others will be wondering what’s become of us.”

“By all means,” Leia said. “You can tell them I asked you about the force.”

“Or taught me,” Rey said. “You think I shouldn’t tell them?”

Leia looked up as they resumed walking, side by side. “I’d argue Finn deserves to know, at some point.”

“He does?”

“He cares. He’s risked his life, time and again, to give you a home. A safe place to return to.”

Rey’s heart ached. Leia was right; she should have told Finn. He understood her, understood what it was like to enter a story too late. They’d entered together, both of them too late and scrambling to understand what was going on. He’d gotten dangerously hurt protecting her from Kylo.

 _I’ll tell Finn_ , she resolved. It made her feel sick inside, imagining it. She felt like she was betraying two people at the same time. Finn, because he wouldn’t understand her wanting to convert the enemy, being drawn to the enemy—and Kylo, because including Finn in things turned their intimate space into a stand-off. They were enemies. Maybe this was what she’d needed all along, for outside forces to intrude and make her realise the bond only mattered to her, in the space between them. Maybe.

 _It’s not just the bond. It’s not_.

She quashed the voice. Leia had told her to be aware of the ways she might be fooled. Fooling herself was as much of a threat as anyone else fooling her; she’d try to be aware of it, the potential she held inside of her for self-deception. She let out a breath, buffeted by strong winds.

“Feel lighter?” Leia asked dryly, watching her.

“No,” Rey said—but she felt slightly smarter, and that was almost as good.


	6. Night Visits

The room at the inn was tiny, and quiet, with thick walls and heavy doors, and the comfort Rey felt retiring to the solitary space was destined to be ruined. It was too good to be true, a night of _sleep_ instead of restless stirring. The lumpiness of the mattress kept her up a moment too long, and then there he was. Red light—ambient in the room, coming from glowing globules set into the thick walls—lit his face. They lay turned towards each other in the bed, though he appeared to be asleep; that was a first. Or—no.

Kylo’s eyes blinked open.

“Oh,” he said. He blinked again, like he was trying to get his brain to catch up with his eyes. Had he just woken to her?

She said nothing. Kylo was just a nuisance-presence, nothing more. Nothing to her. Their bond wasn’t even a secret anymore: that was how little she cared.

He watched her—and the room shifted. Nervousness took root in Rey’s belly as red light shifted to something silvery, almost like moonlight, but there was no moon. She was in a First Order bedroom, wrapped in dark sheets, watching Kylo watch her.

He’d brought her here, on purpose. To see how she’d react.

“Is this a big fantasy of yours?” she asked, turning onto her back so she could stare at the ceiling. Her arms came up outside of the blankets. She tried to channel Poe, recalling how easily he talked about sex and flirtation. _They’re screwing!_ he’d exclaimed once, about crew members on the Falcon, then laughed—like it was normal and easy to talk about. Rey could try to be like that.

Normally it wasn’t a hard pretence; sex mostly held repulsed fascination for her, and she hated to think of people she knew and respected doing it. But somehow, with Kylo opposite her, its existence unnerved her.

“You could always pull back,” he said. “Unimagine yourself. Recall the world around you.”

The sheets and the mattress below her were soft. Heavenly. Did Kylo sleep here every night? How did he bear it? She felt like she’d drown in the softness, the give of the mattress below her.

She smelled his scent on the covers—and switched to breathing through her mouth, her pulse beginning to race harder than it already had been. _Don’t_ , she told it.

“Is that how you bring me here?” she asked, grateful for the distraction. “Imagining me?” He’d said she had no cause to use the technique, and refused to tell her how it worked, but perhaps he’d changed his mind.

“Yes. I believe you could retreat, though, without bringing me along.”

“That’s a risk.”

“It is.” She could feel him watching her, her face prickling. Hadn’t they been here before? Back on the Falcon, when she hadn’t been able to respond. They were alone now; she could say anything she liked.

She looked around the room, its clean lines almost painful to her. There were shelves, a desk, a wardrobe, two doors to other rooms. The silvery light came from a holo device on the desk, the podium lit but empty. There were no personal touches, and the room wasn’t as big as she’d imagined it; she’d imagined some emperor’s suite for the supreme leader. The lack of personality made it seem even more private, giving her insight she didn’t want.

Kylo Ren had nothing. He practiced what he preached, in this at least.

“And you want me to take that risk?” she asked, to steady herself. Her voice came out thicker than she wanted it to. “I thought you weren’t trying to find me anymore.”

“What gave you that impression?”

“The things you said on not-Jakku,” she said. She refused to meet his gaze. “Not telling me how to do this. It was like you didn’t want to know where I was.”

“Maybe I didn’t,” he said. What made his voice like that, all tense and dark with meaning? It called to unknown parts of her, parts she was afraid to explore. “Maybe I changed my mind.”

She turned her head to look at him. “Do you even know what you want?”

The room was too quiet.

“You know what it is I want,” he said, very slowly, and in her mind’s eye they were back in the throne room again. She remembered his outstretched hand, the plea in his voice. “I asked you before. You refused.”

“That’s what you want? Still?”

His mouth tightened. It wasn’t a nod, but the _yes_ was there in his eyes.

“Us?” she said, breath gusting. “Ruling together? It doesn’t make any sense, Ben. I don’t know anything about ruling.”

“You could learn,” he said, because he always had to argue.

“From who? The First Order?”

He hesitated. “You’d learn,” he said. “Do you have so little faith in yourself?”

“Do you have so much?” she asked. The silvery light washed out his features, made his skin lighter and his eyes darker.

“Faith in you? Or in myself?”

“Either.”

“No one deserves power,” he said. “There are just people who happen to take it. That’s all.”

“And we’re qualified?”

“No. No one is.” She watched his jaw clench. “That’s the whole point. No one is qualified, but that won’t stop them. It won’t stop ridiculous religions like the Jedi Order, failures like the Republic.”

“The Republic failed because you destroyed it!” she said, sitting up. She tried to keep her voice down, but her heart was hammering. How could he just—

“It failed because it was weak,” he said, sitting up too. Thankfully he slept clothed, and there was no skin bared when the blankets fell back. “Because it was so caught up in itself, in the _ideal_ of itself, it didn’t care who it ignored or exploited. Who it estranged.”

“So it was destroyed for the crime of estranging you,” she said. “I’m surprised I still draw breath.”

He glared. “You think I could have stopped that beam from firing?”

Her stomach dropped. Her heart felt as if it was in the centre of a dark room, suspended, each beat echoing off smooth walls. “You—would you have wanted to stop it?” she asked. It was something she’d never considered before, a thought that frightened her. Kylo Ren helpless in the face of evil he’d helped create.

“I don’t care,” he said, and she almost thanked him for it. For a second, that solitary heart had wanted to paint him a tragic hero, innocent of the greater crimes of his order.

 _He tried to stamp out the resistance with you in it_ , she reminded herself. _Of course he doesn’t care about wasted lives._

She removed herself from the bed, the way she should have immediately. Space between them was good, though she hoped moving here wouldn’t mean she walked into something in the real world. As it was she went to stand by the desk, looking down at its flat surface.

“You’re just trying to trick me,” she said, more to herself than to him. He wanted a second chance to kill her, to leave the resistance without its Force-sensitive weapon. To stamp out the only person capable of resurrecting the Jedi Order. That was all.

“Rey.” He stood up too. He padded across the room in dark pajamas, feet bare. Even turned away as she was she felt painfully aware of his mass, aware of how greatly he outweighed her. She remembered moving with him in battle, how some part of her had known exactly where he’d be, how to use his powerful body as a springboard. Was that Snoke’s fault?

“Look at me,” he said. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t resist. Her gaze rose, from his chest up his neck, finally meeting his eyes. The scar she’d given him stood out starkly.

“None of this is a trick,” he said. “I’m not Snoke.”

If that was true, then he was a boy with nothing, playing at command.

“And the next time I do something you don’t like?” she asked. _I have a temper_ , he’d gone as far as to admit. She didn’t expect him not to strike back. She’d always been prepared for a life or death match—but he was changing the rules of the game, just when everything had seemed settled and clear.

 _We’re enemies_ , she’d thought. _We’ll kill each other if we can_.

It seemed that wasn’t true.

“It’s your nature,” Kylo said, jaw working. “Haven’t you always been the first to strike?”

Because he drove her into corners. Because he hurt and killed and refused to see sense. His hands were bare. She could touch him, and perhaps she would see another vision like the one on Ahch-To—some tempting fantasy where he gave up everything to join the resistance. But she knew now the visions couldn’t be trusted.

“You wanted to destroy me,” she said.

“Would you have had mercy?”

“No,” she said. “I would have killed you if I had to.”

He was quiet. Maybe he waited for her to see the parallels between them, but he waited in vain. She fought for her life and the lives of her friends; he fought to possess all of existence. It wasn’t the same.

“You’d have your chance,” he said, “if you joined me.”

 _That_ was his pitch? To go to him, at great risk to herself, so she might kill him after all? She wasn’t stupid; if she joined Kylo wherever he was in First Order territory, her only chance of making it out alive was by his influence.

And yet, she wanted to give in. She wanted to join him.

She didn’t understand why. As their eyes locked, everything inside her told her to let go—of the past, of the resistance, of new responsibility. It told her to jump, to fall. To join the vortex of doubt that was Kylo Ren, and stamp it out if she had to—or raise it from the ground. Which would it be?

Perhaps she might have reached, if she had a moment longer. Perhaps some lasting pact might have been made—but she didn’t get the chance. The cord snapped, and she found herself in an inn on Rah-Gul, the ground shaking nauseatingly in an earthquake, her butt planted on a lumpy mattress. She gripped the side of the bed hard, and with the planet itself screaming she let out a howl of her own. No one would hear it over the cacophony of the earth and buildings crying out.

Eventually the tremors stopped. Rey let go of the bed to touch her face, her neck. Did she want to be touched? Did she want the things Kylo didn’t talk about, the insinuations he’d left unexamined when she made them?

Ruling together—what did that mean to him? A partnership? Or more?

It was an uncomfortable subject to think about, but it was only her inside her skull, and she was curious. What weren’t they discussing?

She’d seen people give up their savings for sex. She’d seen it make them foolish and short-tempered. What was it she longed for? The old story, belonging? Or something else, something she hadn’t cared about up till now? Quiet words in the dark—a scent not her own surrounding her…  

She didn’t want him, did she? The thought was foreign, off-putting. It made her body feel unfamiliar, like she couldn’t trust it anymore.

She wiped sweat from her forehead and lay back down. The bond loomed. The general knew, now, and soon Finn would too. And still it affected her. Still it held power.

A scavenger from Jakku ought to prize a closed door, a safe locked space in which to sleep. There was nothing else to long for. She had safety, and some amount of security flowing to her through the resistance. That was everything she could need.

And yet, in her heart, she doubted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading! Cx By the way, I'm terrible at making writing playlists (ie I just fill it with lots of stuff I'm in the mood for, and none of it can be too dark or hard cause it distracts/depresses me so I end up with unfittingly upbeat mixes) but I have one for this fic on spotify: https://open.spotify.com/user/mysfm/playlist/51aJsOZiSLkS8YOlXppjdn . Don't laugh at me too much if you listen! (Shuffle is fine, order is random.)


	7. Coming Up Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support! Your comments and kudos make my day c: I know it's annoying that my updates are short, but it helps keep me posting more often which sustains me better as an author. THANK YOU FOR YOUR SACRIFICE, KIND IN-PROGRESS FIC READERS! You are the heroes here.
> 
> More fun facts: my friend from the States sent me reylo tsumtsums & they've been making my life. My husband hides them around the house (and is mean to Kylo!! I've forced him to stop cause he was being TOO mean) and whenever I come home I have to go looking for them. It makes me so happy to look around and see sausage Rey gazing benevolently down at me from some unexpected perch. Anyway, without further ado: the chapter! Two more to go in part two, next update Sunday c:

Until a happy occasion came up, Rey hadn’t known how much she needed one—but it was clear when it happened that they’d all been longing for something good, something simple they could all look back on with a smile.

Rose’s revival on board the Falcon was a public affair. It provoked a flood of tears and laughter—and somehow, this woke the same in Rose once she saw the wash of faces variously weeping or smiling at the sight of her. She laughed, and then she began to cry, clearly overwhelmed.

Rey watched it all from behind the line of resistance members who knew Rose best, her heart in her throat for some reason. The doctor had been able to repair a lot of the impact damage, and while Rose would have to be careful in the following weeks and not get into any crashes, the prognosis was good. Rey stood back and watched the others attempt to catch Rose up on events, and her heart ached.

Why?

Rose swiped at her eyes, sitting up from the pod she’d been in, and her gaze crossed Rey’s. Her eyes widened.

The crowd parted a little, noticing the change in Rose’s demeanour—from bubbling over speaking to Finn and Poe and BB8 to sudden tense alertness—and Rey stepped forward.

“Rose,” Rey said. The familiar climes of the Falcon felt suddenly unfamiliar, and she was _nervous_. Why was she nervous? Because they had all the same friends, because they were both women, around the same age? Did that put them in competition? _But why?_

 _What if she hates me?_ Rey couldn’t help wondering.

Rose blinked several times fast. Her mouth worked. She’d been bawling, and now she looked at Rey utterly speechless. The awkwardness hung thick in the air.

“I—R—Rey!” Rose spat out, and Rey took it as an invitation to move closer. Rose looked at her with wide eyes. “You’re—we’re—here! Holy crap!”

Somehow, Rose’s awkwardness put Rey at ease; she took Rose’s hand, patting the back of it. “Nice to meet you, Rose. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I…” Rose coughed, scrubbed her eyes with her free hand. “Me too!”

“Finn never shuts up about the Fathiers,” Rey said, unable to help a smile. Her nervousness was fading into something like affection. She wished other people might be as easy to read as Rose was; it made Rey feel less out of step.

“I shut up all the time,” Finn interrupted, bumping her, and Rose laughed—then began to cry again.

It took a while for her sobs to settle. “Did they tell you?” Rose asked Rey, pointing at Finn. “Did they tell you what he tried to do?”

Rey glanced at Finn, eyebrows raised.

“It wasn’t anything,” he said softly.

“He tried to take out the cannon while it was going,” Rose said. “Would have killed himself. And it wouldn’t have worked.”

“It might have,” Finn mumbled.

“A hundred to one,” Rose said, jaw clenching.

“A rebel takes those odds,” Finn said. He looked around at the people gathered around Rose’s pod. “Doesn’t he?”

“He better not,” Poe said, sounding like he meant it. Rey watched Finn narrow his eyes.

“You do it all the time,” Finn said. “Hypocrite.”

“It’s not the same,” Poe said. “And anyway, I learned.”

“You did?” Leia asked. She was standing back a bit, watching all of them with a tolerant smile. Chewbacca stood next to her.

Rey watched Rose blanch.

“Highness… Your Excellency!” Rose said, sounding weak.

“I think it’s _Your Generalcy_ ,” Poe corrected, and Leia barked a laugh.

“You didn’t answer,” Leia told him. “You’re saying you learned?”

Poe’s shoulders came up, and there was a rare look of uncertainty on his face, the set of his mouth turning grim. “Need me to say it twice?”

“I suppose I don’t,” Leia said. “Thank you, Poe. And welcome back, Rose. It’s good to have you with us.”

“Good to—good to be here, Sir!”

Leia grinned. “That’s better. Now—I’m sure this is too much excitement. Our poor doctor would like a moment alone, to test out your reflexes.”

The doctor—not human, though Rey didn’t recognise their species—nodded shortly. It took a long time for people to file out of the room, though; Rose’s awakening was the first win they’d had. All the other stops had results, but they weren’t tangible. They didn’t grin or snort or blink in surprise. Rey filed out into the hallway buzzing with borrowed energy.

The general caught her arm.

“A word?” she asked.

Rey nodded, letting Leia pull her into an alcove away from the dispersing crowd. They stood opposite each other, Rey towering. Was this how Kylo felt around her?

 _Why are you thinking of him_? she asked herself, with a mental shake of her head. She focused on Leia in front of her.

“You haven’t told Finn, have you?” Leia asked without preamble. Rey swallowed.

“No.”

“That’s fine,” Leia said. She patted Rey’s hand, then looked down at the grip of her stick. “I’ve been thinking. I… have an idea.”

Rey tilted her head, and Leia cracked a smile.

“It’s dark.”

“Dark side dark?”

“I feel bad just suggesting it. Like an okay general, but a despicable person.”

Rey’s interest spiked. The unbeatable general, going morally bankrupt? There was no way, right? She folded her arms. “Tell me.”

“You won’t like it. _I_ don’t like it.” Leia rubbed her face. “I must have been terrible once, for everything to... Is this follow-through?”

Rey stared in noncomprehension. “What is it? Tell me.”

Leia looked up, dark eyes wary. “You appear to each other every few days. Like clockwork?”

“I haven’t gone more than three days without seeing him,” Rey agreed.

“You’re due another soon,” Leia said. “What would he think if you didn’t appear?”

Rey startled. “I—don’t know. Maybe he’d be grateful.” Her stomach twisted. Would he be grateful? “Is there a way to stop it?”

Leia gestured at the door, closed now. Rose had laid unconscious beyond it for weeks. “There are drugs that could put you under. I’ve been thinking about it ever since you told me you might give us away, but I decided against it as a long-term solution. Losing you is an equal threat to exposure. I don’t want to make it a permanent state—but the thought lodged in my mind, and I want to know what happens. I want to know how he takes it, what he’ll say when you wake up.”

“You want to make him think I’m in trouble?”

Leia nodded. “Or that you managed to break the bond.”

Rey shook her head. “I’m his enemy. It won’t work.”

“What won’t?”

She was playing dumb; Rey knew it. But she balled her fists and answered, no matter how awkward it was. “Making him worry. He doesn’t care. He tried to get me killed.”

“And now he says he’s changed his mind,” Leia said. She was apprised of their conversations. Not the tone of them, or the setting—but she was a woman with experience reading between the lines. Rey’s shoulders tensed.

“It won’t work.”

“Are you willing to try, while we’re on-planet? I admit I haven’t slept as easy knowing our location might be given up without anyone even meaning to betray us. I’d like to know where we stand.”

“You don’t need me during that time?” Rey asked.

Leia watched her. “That’s not what matters. What matters is whether you’d do this.”

“Of course I’m willing, if you think it’ll help, or tell us something,” Rey said. “But it won’t make a difference to him.” Unlike the difference it would make to her exercise routine. She hoped she wouldn’t lose muscle mass. Would she soil herself, kept under like that? Rose hadn’t, that she knew of. Rose in a coma looked like a fairytale princess waiting to be woken up; Rey would probably look like an angry wasp. She could feel her jaw clenching at the thought of missing time.

She was willing to try anything to resist Kylo, though. Back in the early days on the Falcon, she’d often wished she could knock herself out to avoid the meetings. Now that she no longer wished it so fervently—now that the unwanted fascination was back—her wish was being granted.

Oh well.

Leia knocked her stick against the floor, thinking. “I’m not sure…” she said, trailing off.

Her face was twisted, wrinkles deepening. A woman who’d been known for years across galaxies as _The Beautiful Princess Leia_ was being forced to scheme against her own son, and Rey could only imagine how it felt—and she resolved, then and there, never to tell Kylo. If it bugged him not to know what was happening on her side of the bond, if he cared at all, she wouldn’t tell him who orchestrated it.

“Let’s do it,” Rey said. “I don’t like being a risk. I don’t like you not knowing whether to trust me.”

Leia looked up. “That’s not in question. Please don’t think it is.”

Shouldn’t it be, though? If Rey was reading the situation right, Leia was attempting what Snoke had before, using her ally to manipulate her enemy. It hadn’t worked out for Snoke; Kylo had caused his downfall with that trust. Rey didn’t want to cause Leia’s downfall, but  she didn’t believe Kylo had wanted to kill Snoke, either—not until it was Snoke or her.

Rey had always been the first to strike. If it came down to the resistance or Kylo in some direct way, she knew she could fight Kylo, had done it before—but the potential for accidentally betraying her friends scared her. She could trust her tendency to strike first, couldn’t she? Her own survival instincts.

 _Your survival instincts only keep_ you _alive_ , a dark voice whispered. She thought of Rose’s awakening, the laughter and the tears. Couldn’t Rey’s instincts grow to encompass the crowd of people in that room? The whole resistance? She had to think it could, and it made the decision easier.

It made her want to do it.

“Just let me know what to do,” she said, and Leia’s uncertainty faded. Her mouth set, and she nodded.

She looked relieved.

 

* * *

 

It was strange to know she’d be unconscious for a few weeks. Anticipating this event made Rey’s reality feel wobbly, like her future non-existence cancelled out her current awareness, but once the decision was made things moved quickly. Leia spoke to the doctor who’d attended to Rose, and very soon—Rey had time to exercise, clean, and change clothes—Rey was being ushered to lay in one of the on-ship bunks.

“If we’re doing this, I’d prefer to do it now,” Leia explained. “We’ll move you somewhere more suitable. I’ll explain to the others.”

Rey understood the urgency. Two days had passed since the last time the bond ticked into being, and another visit could be coming any minute. The sooner she was put under, the sooner Kylo could notice the difference, and the sooner she could be woken up.

Fear bumped around in her heart—a very simple fear, to do with being defenceless. With knowing she would be functionally gone for a while.

Did unconscious people dream, or were they a layer below sleepers? She ought to sneak out and ask Rose about her medical coma, about how she’d experienced time, but it was too late now, laying in the bunk with the doctor and Leia standing over her.

The doctor was readying some substance, their blue, six-fingered hand on Rey’s forearm in what was meant to be a comforting gesture. She watched them prepare a spray vial.

Her life would end here. Briefly.

There were no words as the deed was done. They didn’t need any. Rey knew what she’d agreed to, and Leia was withdrawn with the responsibility of initiating this course of action. The doctor, for their part, was doing a job.

Unwelcome pressure in Rey’s head made her gasp. Unwelcome, _familiar_ pressure, at the worst possible time. It happened just as the doctor finished injecting her, and adrenaline surged. She looked up and saw Kylo standing beside her bunk, next to his mother. He loomed. His expression was normal for a moment—but it shifted at seeing her prone like this. She didn’t know what kind of face she was making, but she assumed there was a dose of horror.

She’d just been pumped with sedative. This was no time to be seeing Kylo, to be exposed to him. She’d be at a disadvantage. He could read her if he tried to now, she was sure; she couldn’t force him out of her head like this. She looked up at him in fear—and he stepped forward. He bent over her bunk.

“Rey?” he said, voice urgent. The colour was fading from her vision, but she thought he looked scared. _Scared_. For her. An odd impulse to pat his arm overtook her at the sight, destined to fail. Her limbs were too heavy to shift. It was fine. She could explain later. She could…

The tiredness swept her away. She could do nothing at all.


	8. Wake Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd it's Sunday! Thank you everyone for waiting. Your comments made me so giddy... I love having you on this ride with me. Hope you enjoy today's chapter!

Unconscious people didn’t dream, as it turned out, but Rey didn’t wake up feeling like no time had passed either. There was a sense of having slept for a long, long time.

She groaned. Her body was weak, sleep still tugging at it. Somehow she managed to blink open her eyes, finding herself in the pod Rose had occupied—with Finn sitting next to her.

“Rey!” he said. The ship was humming with activity, which told her they were no longer on the earthquake planet.

“How long was I out?” she asked, eyes closing again. Her mouth tasted foul.

“Nine days,” Finn said. “Are you going to tell me what the hell this was for? The general called it a _force purge_ , but it just looked like they were drugging you. Was it really voluntary? You’re not in trouble, are you?”

“It was voluntary,” Rey said. When she looked at him—it was slightly easier opening her eyes now—she saw lines around his eyes and mouth announcing his concern.

He held a cup by her face, and she took it and drank deeply. It helped with the post-wake-up foulness; she swirled the last of the water around her mouth.

“A force purge…” she mused. She remembered Kylo standing over her bed, the look on his face.

He’d been reaching for her when her mind had blacked out into nothingness. He’d looked terrified—for her sake, not his own.

Perhaps she looked pained, because Finn stood. “What?” he asked. “Rey, what’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?”

“You’ll hate me,” she said. She sat up, looking away from him as she began to stretch her wrists, her arms.

“Come on,” he said, in a voice that meant _don’t be ridiculous_.

She glanced at him. He’d faced down Kylo alone, and it had almost killed him. She’d already forgiven Kylo for that, back on Ahch-To—but why would Finn forgive? And how could he forgive her for forgiving?

“My bond with Kylo Ren. It’s still there.”

Finn sucked in a breath. “You still sense him?”

“Not just sense.” She looked down at her fingers, twining them together. “We talk.”

Finn’s eyes widened in a look of horror. “That’s new.”

“It’s not. I… didn’t want to admit. Before. I know he’s our enemy.”

“You _talk_? Like, all the time? Is he in your head right now?”

“No! No, nothing like that. Sometimes we appear to each other. It started on Ahch-To, and then it just continued.” She couldn’t look at the consternation in Finn’s face; it made guilt seep through her.

Finn rubbed his temples. “You and Kylo Ren hang out.”

“It’s not on purpose.”

“Did I tell you about the time he ordered us to kill a whole village?”

Rey felt frozen, as if judgment of Kylo somehow ricocheted onto her. And why shouldn’t it? She’d still gone out to save him. She’d _known_ he’d murdered innocents. She’d seen it happen once, had seen him murder his father in cold blood.

And now she was worried about him, because he’d seemed scared.

“I know he’s done evil things,” she said. “He has a complete disregard for the lives of other people that’s… I can’t understand it. But—”

“But he’s nice to you?” Finn said, with a raised eyebrow.

He made her feel special. He told her she wasn’t alone—but she’d never been alone, had she? Even before him. No matter how alone she felt. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I can’t ignore the potential for good in him. A potential he could fulfil if he could be made to care.”

The more he hurt, the more he burned things down. If she could stop the hurting—

_Ugh._ Finn was right to look at her like she was a fool. She rubbed her face. “I know it sounds insane.”

“It does,” Finn said, but he wasn’t shaking her or trying to slap her awake. She watched his shoulders bow. The air felt dense, and she picked up a stray memory from Finn, eavesdropping by accident. She saw Kylo yell _traitor_ in that snowy forest, felt her hands—Finn’s hands—gripping Luke’s lightsaber.

Her stomach dropped. She tried to bat the mental impulses that had allowed her to Force-eavesdrop away, shaking her head to clear it.

After a long time—too long for her nerves and her sinking stomach—Finn reached out. She felt his touch as a tingle before he gripped her hand, hard. His eyes met hers.

“I don’t understand wanting to give a guy like that a second chance, let alone a third one,” he said, very seriously. “We both saw what he did to Han. I don’t trust him, but I trust you. Just don’t do anything too stupid.”

“Like fly into a First Order cannon?” she asked, so he’d know she hadn’t forgotten.

It was his turn to look embarrassed. “Yeah, like that.” He fixed her with a glare. “You’re my best friend.”

Her breath came out in one big gust, like she’d been punched. “You’re mine too.”

“Yeah?” He smiled.

“Yeah.” She smiled back—hesitant, then with more confidence.

“You didn’t ask for this,” he said quietly. Then: “Did you?”

“No! That part was true. It’s Snoke’s fault. But I can’t stop it.”

“This whole thing wasn’t to stop it?” he asked, gesturing at the pod where she’d been held in her own non-medical stasis.

She shook her head. It ached with pressure, but not the Kylo-is-coming kind. “I’m sorry, Finn. For not telling you.”

He sat back, waving the apology away. “Don’t be sorry for that. Be sorry for… huh.”

She felt vulnerable waiting for him to figure out what she ought to be sorry for. For feeling like she did, certainly. She felt sorry—but she couldn’t help it. She was starting to realise that.

She wanted it all to mean something. She was looking for belonging again, in all the wrong places. It was a habit.

“Just don’t be sorry,” Finn said, finally. “We’ll get to the bottom of—”

A familiar heart-pounding awareness came over her, and perhaps the pressure earlier _had_ meant something more. All the hairs on her body stood on edge. She watched Finn notice her sudden pallor, saw him clamp his mouth closed.

_Not now_ , she thought. She couldn’t just run out of the room, and Finn was still here. He didn’t need to see this. He didn’t—they both didn’t—

Kylo winked into existence next to Finn, his face stark with emotion, mouth grim. He froze for a moment, eyes finding hers.

“Out,” he said to the room at large, voice loud and harsh—commanding people in his reality, she realised after a moment.

“Rey?” Finn said. He touched her wrist.

She glanced at him, hoping her eyes communicated what her mouth refused to. She flicked her eyes at Kylo’s chin, then back at Finn. Finn leaned in.

“He’s here?” he whispered, moving his chair slightly away from the spot she’d looked at.

She nodded quickly, grateful he’d caught on. Finn sat back, searching the empty air; he looked right through his silent companion.

_Go_ , she wished him silently—begged, in her head, flicking her eyes from him to the door and back. Could he read it? She didn’t know how to deal with the thundercloud of Kylo’s presence with Finn here. She couldn’t let Kylo remember Finn—

“Rey,” Kylo said, and her attention was pulled to him like nothing and no one else existed. She didn’t have the energy to wrench it back. He had his own kind of gravity—a gravity of misery and intensity, but gravity nonetheless. Her breath came short.

It was too similar to their interview on Starkiller Base, with Kylo’s hand reaching for her. Her body clenched up at the memory of it, braced for anger, for the breach of her mind…

He wore gloves. That was her only mercy as he made contact he hadn’t then. He reached and scooped her up about the shoulders, not to shake her or grab her but to hold her to him, crushing her body against his, bending over her. She gasped for breath, and distantly she heard a door closing. _Finn leaving_ , she thought, with relief and alarm.

She shouldn’t reach back. She should lie here, limp and unwilling, until Kylo let go—but one of her arms betrayed her. It hooked around Kylo—around Ben—and held tight. It was impossible to do anything else. The squeeze of his embrace didn’t let up, and she noticed he was shaking.

The smell of him was strange comfort, recalling unwanted intimacies, nights of being not-quite-alone. She could feel the fast thump of his heart through their clothing.

Leia had been right. He did care. It did make a difference.

“I thought…” he said, voice strained. She heard and felt him swallow. He pulled back very carefully, like he was wounded. A glance at his body told her nothing—no obvious marks, nothing but the scar she’d given him. Perhaps he only felt wounded, and moved accordingly.

She looked around the room—still her room—and saw for certain that Finn was gone. _Thank you_ , she sent in Finn’s direction. She didn’t want him to see her this weak. She looked up at Kylo, and he didn’t look back. His gaze was locked to her centre of mass, unseeing.

“Tell me what happened,” he said. His voice was dark, commanding, but his hunched shoulders weakened the image he tried to portray.

“Nothing,” she said truthfully. She was glad her voice worked; it didn’t sound as tight as her throat felt.

“You were gone,” Kylo said. “That’s not nothing.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she imagined herself in his place. Well—kind of his place. She imagined not seeing him for nine days. The doubt of not knowing what had become of him. Would she feel relief, a sense of peace knowing a powerful enemy had been laid low?

_No_. Relief wasn’t the first emotion that sprang to mind.

She wanted to reach out again, let him crush her to him the way he had for breathless seconds. She wrapped her arms around herself tightly to stop herself from pulling him close.

Her bladder was waking, alongside her numb legs. She would have to get up soon, relieve herself, wash and eat and reacquaint herself with the minutiae of living. For now she kept her arms wrapped tight.

He made a gesture, dismissing her silence or perhaps his thoughts. “Who did this to you?” he asked, meeting her gaze at last.

“Did what?” she asked, hoping to dismiss the line of questioning—to remind him they didn’t talk about their situations. “You didn’t think I was dead, did you? You would have felt—”

“ _Not-dead_ can mean anything,” Kylo said. “All I knew was—” he stopped himself. She watched his fists clench in his gloves.

“You won’t tell me?” he asked, and when their eyes met there was a plea in his face.

She shook her head.

“Are you in trouble? Are you safe, at least?”

“I’m safe,” she said. His eyes narrowed.

“If you weren’t, would you tell me?”

She drew a leg up. It functioned like it always had. She looked around at the pod and pushed herself carefully up and out of it, coming to stand beside Kylo. _Oof_. Somehow, the different angle made her bladder feel that bit fuller. She straightened up and looked him in the eye.

“Why do you care?” she asked.

“You know why,” he said, and she did. She could feel it in him now—his need. His fear of losing her. Strange, for someone who’d been ready to blast her from existence not too long ago.

_I have a temper_ , she heard him say in her memory.

“I can protect you,” he said now.

“You can?” she asked. “Your organisation is bigger than you think. Some underling might do you a favour.”

His mouth twisted. “You think I haven’t considered that? I know what I’d do. Who I’d send.”

He’d planned who he’d send to find her? _Why_?

“If I went to you, I’d end up in chains,” she said. “I know what you told them about me—about Snoke. It’s known even out here.”

“I’d keep your identity a secret until it was safe,” he said. “There are ways—”

She stared up at him. “You really have planned it out, haven’t you?”

He glared back. “One day soon, I’ll catch up with you. You’ll slip up. Or…”

“Or?”

He looked away. “Or you’ll give up running.”

She was glad he’d looked away; her stomach hurt with a strange kind of longing. “I can’t,” she said softly. “Not if it dooms the people I care about. Last time, it was just me.”

“That’s your concern?”

“Of course.” She thought of Finn’s hand gripping hers, the set of his mouth as she confessed her sins. Time and again, he’d made sure she had somewhere to return to. There was the stuff Rose had talked about—Finn almost killing himself, the things he hadn’t told her—but it didn’t undo all the rest. She still didn’t know the details on Finn’s behaviour, but it was clear they were both searching, both struggling. That only made him more important to her.

There was a long silence. “And if I guaranteed their safety?” Kylo asked, the hitch of his voice its own message.

Their eyes met. Was the supreme leader of the First Order really wheedling her into giving herself up? Offering to protect the very _resistance_? It seemed so.

He latched onto her lack of an answer.

“You could guarantee their safety better yourself,” he said. “You would know what I know. You wouldn’t have to guess how close we are to catching you.”

She shook her head to clear it of the effect he had. “You have no idea where we are.”

“Do I not? How did you enjoy the earthquake planet, Rey?”

She froze, staring. Was he bluffing?

He stepped closer, forcing her to look up. “No matter what you hide from me personally, your group’s options are limited. Their actions are predictable. Are you still with them? Perhaps I’ll find you sooner rather than later. We’re very close.”

The door opening in the real world made her gasp in sudden terror. She turned and saw Finn and Leia, unwelcome guests in this. Her heart raced painfully, needing Kylo not to see or hear them, but her reaction had already given her away. He might not see who’d entered her room, but he knew someone had joined her.

For just a moment he wore an expression of insecurity. He looked directly at Leia, then focused back on Rey.

“Who is it?” he asked urgently. “Show me.”

He loomed, his anger like electricity in the air. He stood so close she fought not to flinch or move away. Flinching was too much of an admission—too much like confessing his rage scared her.

She shook.

“Rey,” Leia said, eyes very serious. She looked small and vulnerable, stepping slowly into the room. “Is everything okay?”

Rey didn’t know. She was scared Kylo would see her surroundings, and gather more information than she wanted him to have. He was angry. She didn’t mind that anger directed at her, but it couldn’t be directed at the people she cared about—and if he saw them now it would be. He was angry with her for making him worry, but he couldn’t kill her and keep her at the same time.

He _could_ kill anyone else. And he’d just insinuated they were close to catching up.

He was taking off his glove. For a moment it confused her—and then she realised his intent. Last time they’d touched it had brought them together. He’d seen Luke. Now, he wanted to see the room’s occupants, and he’d take the information if she didn’t offer it up.

Fear filled her. How could she fight him off? Punch or kick some clothed part of him? She set a hand to his chest to push him away—and it didn’t work. It only made her hand tingle. What she felt below her hand was dense air, not fabric, and she was afraid to touch for longer in case he materialised because of it. When he reached to touch her bare shoulder with his gloveless hand she flinched, but she didn’t have to worry. His fingers sailed through her. Not like when she’d tried to push him, and felt something, but like she wasn’t there at all.

There was nothing when he tried to touch her. Like he was a hologram, or she was.

His mouth set with disappointment as triumph sailed through her. He reached through her—because she wasn’t reaching back.

_Of course_.

He straightened, glaring. “I can help you, Rey.”

“I’m not in danger,” she said, hoping Leia realised it was an answer to her question too.

“You are. You were right, earlier. You think I can control every member of the First Order? Of course not. I don’t _want_ them catching up with you while you’re with the resistance, but I can’t stop it. Each member of that taskforce knows I’ll kill them if they—they know I’ll kill them but—” he swallowed. Tried again. “Please.”

“Please what, Ben?” she asked, and felt Leia’s shock as if they’d been standing shoulder to shoulder. Was it the name that shocked her—or the fact that her son had said _please_ about anything?

“Let me be the one to find you,” Kylo said. “ _Just_ you. You can protect them. I can protect you.”

His eyes begged her to agree. They’d begged her for things before—some unspoken and some stated out loud—but this plea might just be the loudest yet. Her stomach squirmed with it.

It wasn’t a bad offer.

“Let me think about it,” she said. Her heart flipped over hearing herself say it. Was she buying time? Bluffing? Or was it a promise?

He held his hand by her face, not quite cupping it. If he moved it closer, it might connect. There was a part of her that wanted to feel the scratch of his palm on her cheek, and with the initial panic over her guard was down. She breathed out long and slow, meeting his gaze with a seriousness that matched his… and then he was gone.

She caved in, at least mentally. In reality she bent over, hands on her knees as she waited for her racing heart to settle, for her breathing to slow. Her knowledge of medicine was iffy, but she was fairly sure people who’d been comatose for over a week weren’t meant to have this much excitement right away.

“You were right,” she said to Leia. She didn’t unbend, but she did look up. “It made a difference. I don’t think he wants me dead.”

Leia’s brows rose—and then she smiled a smile that reminded Rey painfully of Han. “You think not, huh?”

“I’m pretty sure,” Rey said. “But he knows we were on Rah-gul. He insinuated they’re at our heels.”

Leia nodded calmly, though Finn’s face went still with shock.

“Of course they pick up our trail,” Leia said, like the thought wasn’t utterly terrifying to her. “It’s why we can’t settle.”

Rey straightened, hands balling into fists. “But if our options are so few—General, they have too many people. If they send arrival parties to suspected locations, the chance of them catching us is—”

“High. None of this is news, Rey, but please sit back down. You shouldn’t be moving so much.”

“Need to pee,” she said softly, embarrassed.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Leia said, waving her off. Rey jogged to the wash room.

She got a few moments of relieving herself and freshening up, taking longer than she had to. She waited for her heart and her breathing to slow—and then she walked back to the interim med room, where Finn and Leia were still talking.

“…in love,” she heard Finn say as the door opened. Rey’s ears burned as the hushed conversation broke off, Finn and Leia turning to her.

In love? Who? _Her?_

Leia gestured at the pod. “Please get back in, so I can have our doctor look at you. We don’t need you fainting. And I’m dying to know what you told him you’re going to be thinking about. It sounded serious.”

Rey shook her head. “Kylo wants me to give myself up. He was pitching it to me.”

How could one not particularly tall woman hold so much shrewdness? Leia’s brows rose, a hand opening. “Kylo? Not Ben?”

Rey wasn’t sure how to respond. She looked woodenly at Finn. “I’m sorry for disappearing on you,” she said.

“He was there, right?” Finn asked.

She nodded.

“And you didn’t want him to know I was?”

She nodded again. At Leia’s impatient gesture, she climbed back into the pod. She didn’t _want_ to sleep more—but she was tired, even after that tiny amount of being awake.

“I’ll settle Rey back down,” Leia told Finn. “Assuming you trust my word now?”

His shoulders came up, filling Poe’s jacket to straining.

Rey held out her arms. “Finn,” she said.

He laughed when he saw her pose—like a toddler waiting for a pickup—but he didn’t leave her hanging. He strode forward to give her the hug she’d silently requested, holding her tight. It was so different from Kylo hugging her. It was comfort, not fire. It didn’t make her shake, and he didn’t tremble. She clung tight for a moment, then let go.  

“Thanks for being there when I woke up,” she said guiltily. She’d left him, when their situations were reversed—

“Needed to get away from Chewbacca,” Finn said, shrugging. “That guy never shuts up.”

Rey laughed. Finn backed away, watched by a stationary Leia.

“I’ll tell Chewie on you,” Leia yelled after him as he exited; he waved to indicate he’d heard, and then the door closed. Leia looked up at Rey.

“You’re not going to settle me, are you?” Rey asked.

“No. I’m grilling you. What did you both say?”

Rey sighed, and told her. She didn’t leave out the embrace, though she didn’t tell Ben’s mother the extent of his posturing. It felt wrong somehow, to emphasise how he’d loomed and threatened. When she finished, Leia was silent for a long time.

“He couldn’t touch you, the second time,” Leia said finally.

Rey inclined her head. “The second…” she started, and trailed off. _The second time_. Of course. _Of course_ : Ben had already touched her once that session before he tried to force the bond into revealing her surroundings. He’d gathered her up, held her close, and they’d been able to interface in their weird Force-projection way.

She’d been open to his embrace, had wanted it. The assurance of it—and that was why it had worked. She sucked in a breath, hoping Leia wouldn’t realise Rey had failed to notice this until she pointed it out.

_C’mon, Rey_ , Rey thought. _Focus up._

She couldn’t focus up, though. She thought of the embrace, the tight clasp of his arms around her shoulders. There had been nothing illicit about it. Nothing that spoke of _that_ kind of desire, the kind that burned beneath the skin—but remembering it, she ached. They’d barely ever touched. Once on Ahch-To, once in the heat of battle—and now, in the hold-turned-medical-room on the Falcon. It wasn’t much to go on, but it made her skin prickle with a need she couldn’t tell anyone about. Least of all him.

“What will you do?” Leia asked.

Rey looked up. She’d been gazing unseeing at a stretch of wall, remembering sensation. “Uh?”

“Will you go to him?”

“I—” Rey stared. “Go to him? And leave you all defenceless?”

Leia raised an eyebrow.

“I mean—not defenceless, but…”

Leia nodded. “We’ll be vulnerable. But we’re not trying to win the battle.”

Rey breathed painfully. “We’re trying to win the war.”

Another nod, and an expectant look.

“Do you want me to go to him?”

“You’re not an official member of the resistance,” Leia said. “I can’t command you to do anything—and I don’t want to. I don’t think I should be trusted.”

“Why not?”

Leia shook her head. “I thought I gave up. So many times, I thought I gave up. When he killed Han…”

“It broke him,” Rey said. “I saw, in my vision. I know it did.”

“Is that a comfort?” Leia wondered. She looked at Rey, eyes calm and sure. “Maybe he’s my son. Maybe he’s something else. I’m glad I won’t be the one deciding, this time.”

“You won’t?”

“It’s your choice to make, Rey. Yours alone.”

Rey blinked. “Surely you have a preference?”

“My preference is for you to do what feels right. I’ll support you, no matter what. You know more than I do. You know Ben better than I do.”

It was too much responsibility. Rey had been ready to accept her role as a weapon, to be directed at will. She didn’t know enough to lead, and besides she didn’t want to, but she could follow—and Leia wouldn’t let her. The Skywalker family kept dragging her into the places she least wanted to be. It was too much power, too much responsibility.

In her mind, Ben’s dark eyes observed her across a great distance, filled with hope and horror, aware of her in a way no other soul ever had been. He’d asked her to go to him, to give herself up to him. _You can protect them_ , his soft voice said in her mind.

She ought to hate him. She’d managed it once, and the hate had shattered under pressure. It had turned to fascination, certainty. And then, after his callous offer in the throne room, she’d been sure that hopeful girl who’d gone to him was wrong. And now?

She was unsure. So deeply unsure, held in suspension by her own uncertainty.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Leia said. “You have a place here, Rey. No matter what.”

Rey looked away, not wanting to tear up. Ben accused her of looking for her parents everywhere—but surely Leia was a mother to hundreds. Dozens, now, with their numbers decimated—but hundreds once upon a time. Rey was just one in a crowd.

If only they’d been born the other way round. Her the daughter of Han and Leia, him the son of junk traders. She would have… she would have…

She had no idea what she would have been. Or who. And it did her no good to think about it.

“Thank you,” she said, staring hard at a wall. Her eyes burned, but somehow she managed not to cry despite the thickness in her throat. Leia patted her arm.

“I’ll send the doctor in,” she said.


	9. Double Vision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter of part 2! Thank you guys so much for your continued support; I love hearing from you. This may be my last mid-week update for a while since the chapters are getting longer and I'm eating into my buffer quite a bit. Join me for the start of part 3 on Sunday!

Of course he came for her again before she’d quite decided. The Falcon was on another nowhere-planet, with her on it while the others explored, when the bond drew taut. That hook behind her bellybutton pulled, and then there Kylo was, in the engine room. It was unfair to credit him with the timing, but she blamed him anyway. She looked up from the panel she was repairing, then ignored him purposefully.

She was playing with some wires when the wires disappeared from her hands. Cold glass replaced familiar plastics beneath her, and the walls opened up. They were in some huge hall—an observation chamber of some sort, and curiosity got the better of her. She couldn’t resist looking around, beginning to stand—then stopped.

Her breath came fast, panicked. There was no floor under her. She stood high above a planet—on _nothing_. No seams, no obvious structure. She stayed hunkered down, halfway to standing, and touched her fingertips to the “floor”—or lack thereof.

Laughter—not her own—cut through her panic. She looked over her shoulder, eyes wide—and glimpsed Kylo Ren laughing for the very first time. Not just a smile and a duck of his head, an exhale—but _laughter_. The shock of that wiped away her concern about the lack of a floor. Something inside her buzzed with warm pleasure to have made him laugh like that. She stared, wide-eyed, and wished she could do it again.

He still tried to hide it. A gloved hand had come up over his mouth, fingers curled, and he’d only glanced at her when it was happening then quickly away—but the image imprinted itself. She felt blinded by it when she looked away.

“Very funny,” she said dimly.

“I apologise.”

She pressed her hands to her cheeks. They felt warm; she was flustered. The panic was gone, and now awkwardness allowed her to focus where panic had split her attention. She could see the seams in the room. They were on some space station above a planet, the floors and walls clear—but there were dark stars of wall and floor here and there, telling her the dimensions of the room. It was an observation deck, for all intents and purposes—but it was on a space station of some kind, and slicker than anything Rey had ever seen.

 _Typical First Order_. In the distance, she heard music—like a gala was happening. She remembered Finn’s stories of the casino and straightened. She might not be used to rooms that were like standing in the nothingness of space, or the soaring of string instruments over some unseen comm system, but she was fighting for what was right and good. She was Rey, scavenger of Jakku, wayward disciple of the late Luke Skywalker and current mentee of Leia Organa, and she deserved to stand wherever she pleased.

Her hands weren’t shaking anymore by the time she stood fully upright, though she had to take deep breaths each time she looked down. Kylo stayed where he was, at a distance, watching her take it all in. She made a point of looking around, pretending not to be intimidated. Her eyes stopped scanning when she caught sight of a large moon that was just—wrong. She narrowed her eyes, wondering if she was seeing things.

“Mining,” Kylo said, without needing to be asked. “Easier just to break the moon apart and dive in than drill down. The sight is…” he trailed off.

Rey walked to the wall of windows, transfixed. A moon, split to pieces. On purpose? For resources? A shimmer of more than just sunlight reflecting off the moon’s surface suggested there might be a force field holding the remains together. What would scavengers there look like? Were there little girls climbing into tiny crawlspaces to reach what the adults couldn’t, or was that just on Jakku?

“The First Order uses this room to impress newcomers,” Kylo said. She jumped; he’d approached while she stared, standing just behind her. “New investors.”

She craned her neck to look at him. “The First Order has investors?”

Kylo looked at her, then over her. “Apparently.”

There was a world of nuance in that one word. She couldn’t read it by herself, but she could make out a few things—could guess at them, at least. He wasn’t comfortable with command. He was learning about his organisation as he went along, and not all lessons had been pleasant. Was that why he haunted this room alone, instead of being somewhere with other people? For some reason, it pleased her to have him here with her, preferring her company to wherever he was needed. She was happy leading the First Order was hard for him.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly, looking out at the impossible sight of a moon split into parts, the glow of an unknown planet below. “You could be the one to join me.”

He moved to stand at her shoulder, very close, so close she could feel him—but still slightly behind her, still looming in that villainous way he had. Was it on purpose?

“It would give up a tactical advantage,” he said. “The First Order is strong. Just now, I can control it.”

She looked up at him, having to stretch her neck to do so.

“I can control parts of it,” he corrected. He looked frustrated. “It’s… hard.”

“Has anyone mutinied?”

“It’s been close,” he said. He looked at her. “Does that please you?”

She looked away. “It might have before.”

When had Kylo started to feel like an ally again? He’d tried to shoot her ship out of the sky. He’d tried to—

It was in the past. Somehow, it was all in the past. Her hairs stood on end.

“Don’t get killed,” she told him, eyes glued to shards of silver, split apart in some bygone era.

“Rey,” he said, with an intensity that begged her to look up. Her shoulder and neck went stiff with the effort of resisting the urge to look at him. “Rey,” he said again.

She turned then, facing him. Eventually, she even dragged her eyes up to meet his. “Yes?”

“Join me, Rey,” he said. “Please.”

“I’m someone,” she said. She glared up. “To lots of people, I’m someone.” She tried to list them in her head: Finn, Chewie, Leia, Poe…

He waited. His eyes were dark in the light, his attention heavy on her—like a blanket covering her. Weighted and unfamiliar.

“I’m not nothing,” she said, looking up at him.

“I know,” he said.

She couldn’t look up anymore; her gaze dropped. “But I…” _But I don’t know what I am. I don’t know what I want. I still don’t know what to do._

“Rey.”

She ignored him, shoulders hunched. How were they here again? Somehow they could never get away from that moment in the throne room, when her heart had split down the middle and she’d known Ben was an enemy—was _Kylo Ren_ , the way he’d always pretended to be.

She looked up, nose prickling with unshed tears, and he grasped her shoulders with gloved hands. She clenched her jaw against a desire to fall into him, angry that he could grab like this.

 _I want him to touch me_ , she thought, a statement of fact—because he could only touch her when she wanted it. So it was her fault that he could. Did he realise? Probably. He knew more about the bond than she did.

“Come to me,” he said, voice hushed. “We can work together. We can work against anyone you’d like to.”

Rey looked up. She remembered Rose’s heroic statement, relayed to her by Finn: _that’s how we’ll win. Not by destroying what we hate, but by saving what we love_. Kylo Ren didn’t think that way. He was Rose’s opposite, focused on destruction, on working _against_. Could Rey push against that mindset, erode it until he worked _for_ something?

Her attention shifted as the music changed. She looked up, trying to find the source of it, but it was still distant. His hands fell away—fell through her in the attention lapse, rendering her untouchable.

She’d hadn’t heard much music in her life, beyond the twanging and shanties of the trading post. There were so many more types of music out there, though, and they were a recent addition to her life—mostly filtered through Poe’s internal jukebox of humming and dancing. She’d tried to imitate his dancing, sometimes, curious about the patterns forming and breaking, the joyfulness of the act, but he usually spotted her and laughed, stopped, started talking.

“Can you dance?” she asked Kylo now, looking up.

He drew back, blinked. His attention shifted to the music, and he listened for a moment.

“I know the steps,” he said finally.

“Steps?”

“The—” He looked at her face and sucked in a breath, shook his head. “This music—it’s for a formal dance. There’s a… way. To do it.”

“My friend, when he dances—I don’t think there are steps.” Did the shuffles to the side count? They were steps, but the way Kylo said _steps_ sounded like _instruction manual,_ not literal steps _._

“You’ve never seen…?” Kylo said, trailing off.

She shook her head, unimpressed by the sympathy in his eyes. Did he really feel sorry for her? She shrugged.

“I guess I’ve seen parties, now and then—” she started, but Kylo interrupted her by stepping close so their feet were just off-centre. He was so big, not just tall but muscle-bound as well, like a blast door capable of withstanding armies. Maybe he wasn’t always looming; maybe some of his looming was just existing.

He tugged off his glove. “Let me show you.”

Her eyes widened. Through what kind of contact? Would he beam it into her mind? Could he control the vision?

He let out a breath, stepped even closer. He set her hand on his bicep and waited to see if the contact would hold.

It did. She could feel the fabric of his padded shirt beneath her fingertips. Her heart burst into painful overdrive as the palm of his left hand settled against her back in an innocent but intoxicating touch.

He looked at her for a moment—stared, more like—then picked up her other hand in his, raising it very slowly. She could feel the tremble of his hand lifting hers, but it was the roughness of his fingers that undid her—the knowledge that he trained without his gloves sometimes, that this bare hand usually held weapons.

The contact caused no clear vision, not like when they’d touched on Ahch-To, but impressions swam in her mind, in her body. A sense of rightness, to be connected in this way. Did he feel it too?

Doubtlessly. But he’d take different things from it again. He’d twist it to his purpose.

“Listen,” he said quietly, a shift of his head indicating the music. She blocked out her doubts and did as he said. She could feel the swell, the ebb, and then Kylo was moving. He drew her with him effortlessly, as if she’d known how to do this all along. Rey looked down at her feet, wondering how she knew how to move, where to step. She looked at their joined hands. Was it that connection, infusing her with his knowledge, or was it the simple hints given through the hand on her back?

Finally she looked up. _Ben_. His eyes sought hers, but shuttered when they finally made contact—embarrassed to be caught staring. Despite this, his grip on her back tightened, drew her in closer.

She didn’t think he’d learned this here, in the First Order. He was a senator’s son, had probably learned the niceties of formal gatherings at his mother’s knee, even if he couldn’t perform them with the right polish. The music and the steps gave her an impression of elegance, but Kylo’s tread was too heavy, his intensity too much; she could imagine the difficulty he would have had performing this social obligation once. She wondered what she would have seen in the awkward boy of back then.

For now, for this, he was perfect. His touch made her heart jump, his awkwardness easing her own anxiety. She wished they weren’t enemies.

No: they weren’t enemies. She wished he wasn’t First Order, that _he_ could fold to her instead of insisting on more danger, more destruction.

She bit her lip, gripping his arm harder—clinging, almost. She didn’t want the music to end. It felt too right to be here, to touch him. To have a flimsy excuse for this contact that didn’t ask for a commitment from either of them. For the duration of the song, she didn’t feel lost. She felt found, even if she was just a scavenger from Jakku pretending she knew what to do. Even if they couldn’t see eye to eye. There was just the sound of their steps, his too heavy for real refinement, hers too light to belong to a real person, but they made do.

Apprehension crept into her limbs as the song drew to a close. Their feet stopped moving, but he didn’t drop her hand or step away. She looked at where skin touched skin, the light touch of their hands. His was so warm; it reminded her of Ahch-To, when she’d been frozen solid and his touch had made fire flare within her.

She hadn’t expected warmth from him. Never in a million years—and yet, he’d warmed her.

He folded her hand in close, held it to his chest. “Join me,” he said. She could feel his desire through the bond, their hands twisted together, his other hand a blaze of heat on her back. She could feel all the things he didn’t say that lay beyond this request, felt how he ached for them. She sensed his anger, his fear, his loneliness.

“Stop threatening my friends,” she said. “Don’t even think of hurting them. Find a way to call off your taskforce.”

“I’ll try,” he said.

“You will?”

“The resistance is no longer my problem,” he said. “There are… things to set right. I made mistakes.”

“The resistance never was your problem,” she said, pushing. She thought of Snoke—and Kylo’s own anger.

He looked up. “Maybe not.”

Strange double-vision from the bond forced her to see herself through his eyes. She saw herself looking up at him, face lit with silver, glowing in a way she knew her skin didn’t glow. She wasn’t stepping away. The thought crashed through him over and over: that she was solid in his arms, hand warm in his, reaching back when he reached for her. Their bond wasn’t broken. It wasn’t unfixable. He thought of the split lightsaber they’d split in half, the one he’d commissioned a replacement for in the vain hope she’d one day return to—

“You commissioned me a weapon?” she asked, eyes widening. He blinked, shaking his head to clear it. How had she read…?

His thoughts and feelings were pouring into her, he realised. The cause was obvious, once he thought of it: the contact, his own desire. For a moment he considered allowing the leak, just so he wouldn’t have to let go—and then he stepped back, hand flexing like hers had burned it. He looked at his bare skin like it had betrayed him.

Rey’s mind was her own again.

“I don’t understand you sometimes,” she said. “When did you stop wanting to destroy me, exactly?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

He looked away. “Later that day?”

She reeled. “After Snoke? Really?”

“I wanted you to be punished,” he said. “I wanted you to regret your decision. But I didn’t want you dead.”

She couldn’t bear to think of him dead, either. Even when things were bad, she’d hated the thought of it—the loss of opportunity. The idea that their story would have no conclusion. She breathed out slowly.

“But you were angry,” she said.

“So were you.”

“It was easy,” she said. “All the losses…”

He nodded.

“You were only angry on your own behalf,” she said. Like she still had to one-up him on being justified.

“No one likes being rejected.”

“That’s how you saw it? Like me rejecting _you_ , instead of what you stood for? Ben, I would have—if you’d only given me some hope we might find some middle ground, I might have…” She trailed off, unsure. What would she have done, if he’d only been willing to let the rebels live? If he’d shown just the tiniest concern that his mother was on one of those ships being shot like fish in a barrel?

His jaw worked, set. She could feel his teeth clenching, somehow, inside her own head. “And now?” he asked.

She met his eyes, searched them. He’d commissioned a _weapon_ for her. Not shackles. He hadn’t decorated her future prison cell, or attempted to placate her. He’d talked to her in the way he understood: war. Strife. He’d invited her into his fight. Into his corner.

“You’re sure the First Order won’t kill me on the spot?” she asked.

“I could protect you. The knights could protect you. They follow me; they understand what it means.”

“What what means?”

“To feel it. The Force.”

“These are the same Knights that killed the rest of the budding Jedi Order?” she asked.

Kylo swallowed. “It was… that was a long time ago. We were all searching. Snoke had reached them too.”

“They follow you?”

He nodded. And because she was unable to see him as her true enemy—even as he led the behemoth seeking to destroy her group—she was glad he had allies like that. Relieved.

She stepped forward—and sensed more than saw his look of surprise. She let her forehead drop against his chest, and it caught her weight, remained firm beneath her aching head. Was she really going to make the same mistake again? Go to Kylo, hoping to turn him, sure of some deeper goodness?

He was still Ben. He was still Ben, and he always had been. A Ben who committed atrocities beneath a mask, beneath a new name. If she could knock off the mask—the name—she might have some chance of success. Already his weapon was aimed at other people, not her, not the resistance. He was beginning to realise what it meant to lead, beginning to regret.

Was that small progress enough? Maybe not for everyone—but for her, it felt like it. She could feel the ache inside of him, could feel a part of her echoing it. She wanted him. Not in any way she understood, and not in any way she’d ever wanted someone before—but still, she wanted.

She thought of that weapon he’d never meant for her to know about, not before she’d committed, and it sent out a call she couldn’t ignore. Fighting at Ben’s side again…

She wanted to. She wanted that rush of knowing just where he’d be, where he needed her. She wanted to talk to him in quiet moments, understand all the things that had driven him to the dark—and all the things that had brought him back, teetering, to the edge. She wanted him to make sense of things, to tell her she wasn’t alone again.

Their bond had drawn them back together, close enough to touch. It was a second chance she’d resented, but it was one she wanted, now. She looked up, and their eyes met. There was a world below the surface of his expression, one she could learn with a touch—but the bond winked out before she could attempt it. She’d known their time was drawing to a close.

The engine room felt empty around her. She hugged herself, imagining his touch, his gaze. She returned to her spot from before, and for a while she sat hunched, kneeling. The weight of her decision pulled her down, held her static. It was the cave all over again. All she had to do was—push through. Accept. Look past what was in front of her, and take a step. Ben would help, he would listen.

It took a while for her body to unfreeze. While she waited to thaw she tried to put thoughts of the dance from her mind—Ben holding her, guiding her, his steps unsure where his touch was certain. It couldn’t be expelled; the images lived inside of her now. She’d have to learn to deal with them.

Eventually her hands stopped shaking. She picked up the wires she’d dropped, and went to work.

She thought of what she’d say to Finn—how she’d explain that she was leaving to save Kylo Ren. Again.

She hoped he’d understand.


	10. Enter the Knights of Ren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [broken record voice] Thank you so much for your support! Whether you were laughing or bouncing around with impatience or happy to have found my fic I loved reading your comments. It seems a lot of you saw Gin's art lately and found me? That makes me so happy. These chapter covers are my phone background and I sigh over them all the time TvT
> 
> ANYWAY! Part three begins! We plunge into hard non-canon territory as I had to invent some random characters to serve under Ben, but I had fun and I hope you will too. Next update in a week; please enjoy!

 

* * *

 

 

Wind whistled past her ears, tugged at her clothes, tried to push her over. She stood tall, glad she’d had two days to get accustomed to the strange pressure of this barely-inhabited planet. Some solo, scavenger-instinct reconnaissance had told her where to stand in order to greet her welcome party from a vantage where she could hear every word they said despite the distance, and they could hear… well, nothing from her, which didn’t depend on the wind. It wasn’t like she had anyone to talk to. But she eavesdropped on the Knights of Ren as they approached, just as she’d planned to, their voices carrying on the wind.

“…power play,” one of them was saying. Their voice was deep, with a strange trilling echo that marked them as nonhuman.

“I’m not playing,” another answered in a hiss. “What, we’re just meant to _accept_ this random stranger outranks us? After everything?”

“She doesn’t _outrank_ us,” a third—last—person argued, voice higher than the other two. Rey watched their cloaks tugging in the wind and tried not to laugh at how terrible this planet was for people who wore long cloaks. If Ben had been part of the welcoming party, would she have joked about it to him?

Would he have smiled?

“Sure she doesn’t,” said the angry-sounding one. “Just one of the crew, right?”

They were getting closer, only low brush between them. Rey shouldered her pack, picked up her staff, and left the shelter of a gnarled tree, walking out to meet them. She could see them plainly from here: three figures in long dark cloaks, only one of them wearing a helmet, but all of them walking with First Order-approved menace.

“Finally, she noticed us,” said the angry one. “Because the ship arriving wasn’t obvious enough. No—better to stay put and let us walk all the way out here to meet her. Precious Princess.”

“Maybe she sensed you’d shoot her down from the ship given half a chance,” said high-voice.

“Be quiet,” said the first, slightly trilling voice.

A moment later, Rey felt a pressure she hadn’t in a while. Not Ben arriving in her mind, but one of the knights reaching into her, trying to take what wasn’t theirs. She couldn’t keep her nose from wrinkling as she pushed them out. It was bad manners to pry like that right off the bat, surely—but she wasn’t some helpless wide-eyed girl for this Force-user to experiment on. From the knights’ conversation—the way they carried themselves—she sensed a hierarchy.

It would be best to place herself at the top.

She reached back, just as she had with Kylo, and pushed until she was inside the aggressor’s mind. It wasn’t easy.

But it wasn’t exactly _hard_ , either.

Behind the push lay an insecure fighter, older than she was, painfully devoted to Ben—or rather, to Kylo Ren. Rey sensed hero worship mixed with anger that someone else had caught his eye, had weakened him. Had killed Snoke.

The mind Rey had pushed into didn’t quite know how it felt about the Snoke thing—but it knew it hated Rey, especially as it registered the intrusion. At the feeling of Rey’s mind pressing in, unstoppable, the anger swelled to fear, indignation, helplessness—then more anger.

Rey felt the push of the mind against her, trying to force her out. Was this what her mind had felt like to Snoke? Utterly transparent? She withdrew after a moment, long enough to have made her point—and watched the tall middle figure stumble. One of the ones on the side helped catch them, but the other one ignored their fellow knight completely, striding out to meet Rey.

“I apologise for my companion,” the stranger said immediately, without inflection but with that alien trill. They weren’t human, and Rey had an impression of broad shoulders and feet, red-patterned skin where it wasn’t wrapped in First Order regalia, before she met all-black eyes that blinked at her diagonally. “I am Tal. The one who greeted you so abruptly is Ceeta. The remaining is Yarrow.”

Yarrow was the one who’d argued she didn’t outrank them: a human girl with hair braided tightly back, intentional-looking horizontal scars set into her cheeks. Ceeta—the angry one who’d tried to Force-spy on Rey—was tall and human-shaped, but utterly shrouded by their clothes and helmet.

The helmet looked a lot like Kylo’s—but with sharper angles in the detailing, less rounded. Rey tried not to roll her eyes at the pretension. Was Ceeta trying to impress her, coming out here wearing that?

 _Intimidate_ , Rey thought. And once upon a time a masked stranger coming for her _had_ intimidated her.

It felt like a long time ago.

“I’m Rey,” she told Tal, courtesy for courtesy. She looked at Ceeta. “If you try that again, I’ll push back harder.” A memory and a shiver of laughter in her belly made her add, “I can take whatever I want.”

She was fairly certain the person below the mask sneered; she could almost feel it. Yarrow looked at Rey narrow-eyed.

“You can’t blame her for trying,” she said, seeming to blame Rey for minding.

“Can’t I?” Rey asked, keeping her face as blank as she could make it. She’d show no weaknesses in front of this group. They’d followed Snoke as surely as Ben had, and they hadn’t put lightsabers through Snoke to free themselves.

 _They follow me_ , Ben had said. But it remained to be seen; that hero-worship of Ceeta’s could well get Rey killed, whether through personal jealousy or a self-serving conviction that it would be better that way.

What had Ben signed her up for?

“Please accompany us back to the ship,” Tal said, beckoning. Rey nodded and followed, staff gripped tight. It felt painfully insufficient compared to a lightsaber, but she was fast—and Tal and Yarrow at least seemed unprepared to ignore Ben’s orders. Her back tingled, though, at the thought of Ceeta behind her.

 _Precious Princess_ , she had heard Ceeta call her as the three made their way over. What about Rey was princess-like, exactly? An upbringing of being used by others until she could fend for herself? A body covered in scars from falls and scrapes and burns? What about her lifetime of deprivation spelled out royalty?

Exile, maybe? Capture? Or did the knights think only people from some great lineage could be important? Rose’s sister Paige had been from nowhere, and she’d taken down a First Order destroyer in the end. Finn from nowhere had saved Poe, gotten Rey off Jakku, fought Ben single-handed and lived. Han Solo from nowhere had—

Rey clenched her jaw, stopping this line of thought. She was arguing with herself for no reason. It wasn’t like she could refute Ceeta’s _Princess_ insult without admitting it bothered her, and that was the surest way to hear it more. She narrowed her eyes against the wind—walking against it made them water—and focused on the shuttle ahead. It was black, with tall wings standing vertically upward and a flat hull—just the same as the command craft on Crait. A device Tal used made the forcefield around it drop as they approached.

It was odd to walk up the gangplank of a First Order craft willingly, but that was exactly what Rey did, the whistling of the wind replaced by the stomping of feet. The plank retracted once they were in, the door closed—and all was silent.

“I will ready the vessel for flight,” Tal said. “We’ll contact our leader once we’re off-planet.”

“Don’t bother,” Ceeta said. “I’ll get us up.”

She passed them by, batting Yarrow’s reaching hand away. Rey would have preferred if Tal had piloted the vessel—she wanted to watch the process and ask questions—but as it was she slunk up behind the pilot’s chair and watched anyway, noting the controls, which switches Ceeta touched and which ones she left alone. It seemed fairly standard.

Rey could probably improvise, if she had to make an escape.

There was a jerk as the ship lifted off, then almost a minute of vibrations as the wings expanded. That was what Tal said was happening, anyway, when Rey asked.

“She’s not our ally,” Ceeta snapped at Tal’s easy reply. She sent Tal a look, obscured by her helmet.

“Ren said she wasn’t to be treated like a prisoner,” Tal said very simply. “Would you have me disobey a direct order?”

“I’d have you think for yourself, for once.” There was a hiss in Ceeta’s voice. It was echoed by the hiss of atmosphere against the shields as they rose up into space. Soon they were up and out of the reach of the windy planet’s gravity, preparing to jump.

First, though…

There was a console behind the pilot’s chair, in the middle of a conference table, and this was where Tal was fiddling now. _Calling Ben_. Kylo. Ren? Who was he to these people? They’d undergone the same training. Did that make them friends, rivals—or something else? She hadn’t been under the impression Ben had friends.

She wondered how she was meant to act in front of the knights, how he wanted her to talk to him. Their conversations had only ever been private. She didn’t know how to exist around him with witnesses present—or what political damage she might do if she misstepped—and it made her nervous.

Perhaps simply talking to him without the bond active made her nervous. Or maybe it was talking to him while she was en route to his stronghold that scared her. It had been hard enough telling him she’d meet his people, seeing the widening of his eyes and burning under his stare, knowing she’d been the one to give in to his pull. _Again_. There had been a palpable awkwardness between them the last few meetings, after she announced her decision, and she didn’t imagine having an audience would help.

Maybe the nervousness was just that: nervousness. About everything.

A ringing noise said the transceiver was active and transmitting. The call was picked up almost immediately, like Ben had been waiting for it, and he probably had—waiting to see if this was a trick, some fake-out by the resistance.

“Report,” came Ben’s voice, making Rey’s heart stop. It was odd to hear him through a machine, to see evidence of his existence beyond their bond. On the First Order ship she’d surrendered herself to, his physical presence had seemed impossible. It had made her giddy to be near him, to know it was his real body standing next to her.

No Force. No bond.

“We’ve picked up the asset,” Tal said. _Flattering._ Asset, was she? “There’s no sign of the resistance, no trap.”

Rey felt like she’d let everyone down by _not_ being duplicitous. Should she have tried to take out some of the knights? Cull the herd in the name of the resistance? Would Ben still want her near then?

Did he want her near now—or did he just not want her out there, causing trouble for him? Familiar fear gripped her. When they were together she felt sure, but as soon as she stood on her own two feet it was impossible to trust her instincts, to trust him. It seemed painfully likely that everything had been a trick. He just wanted the Jedi texts, or he wanted information from her mind, or—

“Let me speak to her,” Ben said, cutting through her panic. Lightyears couldn’t quite disguise the tremble in his voice; it spoke to Rey’s own doubts and eased them, for now.

She rounded the table to stand next to Tal.

“Hello,” she said.

“Switch to holo,” Ben said, voice harsh. She glanced at Tal, who acquiesced wordlessly. The capture cam flickered to register the people standing before it, and above the transceiver an image of Ben appeared, from the waist up.

Rey stared. It was different from seeing him through the bond, somehow. Holos didn’t catch full colour, and the movement was jerky at times, but in many ways it felt more real than their meetings—perhaps because it was more commonplace. When he appeared in her mind, it was like magic, like being under a spell.

Now, their meeting utilised technology she understood, rendered him and the effect he had on her world plain and real.

He stared too.

“Not a trick,” he said. “I admit I’m surprised.”

“Did it seem like a trick?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. “I suppose there’s still time for things to change. Do you carry a beacon, like before?”

The nervousness she’d felt was changing to something else at his odd attitude—something like suspicion, or else resentment. “You think I’d be stupid enough to keep one on me, when you know about them—when it would lead right to the resistance?”

“So you’re defending,” he said. “Not attacking.”

Rey didn’t understand why he was being like this. His words were a jarring reminder of the time he’d interrogated her, how he’d narrated her own mind back to her— _you feel he’s the father you never had. He would have disappointed you_. She remembered the room of windows, his feelings flooding into her through the bond. She’d _felt_ him, not as the person holding her but as if she _was_ him. It seemed impossible that he’d go back to this mode, where they were players on opposite sides of a chessboard.

Was he protecting himself—or had she wandered into some trap?

She glanced at the knights in the room. All of them watched her, tensed, as if her next words might conjure a lightsaber to cut them all down. She watched the holo of Ben, and tried to believe she’d done the right thing. That he wasn’t tricking her.

“If you think this is some trick, it’s much too early for you to relax,” she said. She was angry—at herself, maybe, for _not_ planning some grand gesture. “You don’t have all the evidence yet, and you can’t rule anything out.”

“You sound angry.”

She glared, fought the urge to pace. “Why wouldn’t I be? I thought…”

 _I thought you understood. I thought you wanted me. I thought me joining you meant something_. Instead, they were still opponents. Why had she expected him to revert to the person he’d been in the throne room, anticipating her every thought, her every move? She hadn’t asked him for that. She’d only told him she was coming.

Her stomach hurt with tension.

He watched her. There was a sense that he might have said more, if they’d been alone, but they weren’t alone. The awkwardness of their latest meetings rose between them again. Here they were, brought together against all odds, and they had nothing to say to one another. She tried not to clench her jaw or give any other indication that she was annoyed and unsure, and she was grateful when Tal spoke into the silence.

“Do you have any additional orders?” they asked.

Ben looked surprised—like he’d forgotten Tal was standing right there. His eyes focused on his underling. _Underling_. Yes, that was right—that was what the knights were. Maybe not just that, but they followed his orders. Rey kept her spine straight.

“No,” he said. “Stay for a week in the system we discussed, act as I said, and await more orders. I’ll let you know under what conditions you can join the fleet.”

 _A week_. She wasn’t joining him immediately, then. He’d floated the idea before, in one of their stilted sessions after her decision, but she’d thought his own impatience echoed hers. Instead she was stuck here, with these people she didn’t trust. He continued looking at Tal, thankfully, and missed whatever reluctance showed in her face at the news.

“You have the manufactured identity?” he asked. Tal nodded.

He nodded back, jerkily, then looked at Rey. “Study up. Your life depends on it.”

“I—what?”

Ceeta was no longer content to be ignored. She stood up, arms crossing tightly over her chest as she faced Rey. “Your disguise, _Your Highness_. We mean to keep your identity a secret. Or were you keen to face your crimes in front of a tribunal?”

Her crimes. Killing Snoke, she remembered. But she hadn’t killed Snoke, and she was surrounded by Force-sensitive people who could take the memory from her mind if she let them. She looked at Ben’s flickering holo, and it looked back at her, and she knew she still had cards in reserve. Not all of them were on the table after all. Perhaps she couldn’t save herself, if things went badly, but she could take Kylo—take Ben—down with her.

He _had_ trusted her. Enough to trust she wouldn’t immediately challenge him. It shouldn’t have made her feel good, but it did. They still had secrets between them. She still had the potential to ruin him, and he was still trying to protect her.

It was a strange kind of trust, but given their beginning, she couldn’t be picky. She’d taken the leap, and it was up to Ben to catch her.

 _Please be good_ , she thought at him, her stomach twisting. _Please don’t make me regret this_.

They watched each other in silence, until she remembered Ceeta’s words.

“I’ll play along,” she said, the meaning twofold. She thought she saw Ben’s shoulders relax. Could he doubt it? She valued her skin, her head on her shoulders. Survival was what she knew best—and her survival included staying quiet about his betrayal.

 _I didn’t kill Snoke_ , she imagined telling everyone. Would they be surprised? Would it confirm their suspicions? She wouldn’t have the chance to find out, because her fate was linked to Ben’s. Again.

“I—” he started, then stopped. His eyes dropped before he looked at her for a long moment. She could almost feel him putting himself back together, though what sentiment he’d swallowed she didn’t know. “It’s important that you do. More than just your life depends on it.”    

“You really think people won’t remember my face?”

“They remember a captive,” he said. “Different clothes, different name—different person.”

Rey looked down at herself. Different clothes? Different name? What exactly had she signed up for?

“We’ll make sure she knows it,” Ceeta said, rising to join them. Rey heard the adulation in her voice, the need to be praised.

 _Ugh_.

“Safe journey,” Kylo said—and he _was_ Kylo now, the mask and not the man beneath it. Rey felt confused, and angry, and like she’d stepped into a pool expecting sun-warmed water only to find freezing snowmelt. She shivered.

The connection was cut.

* * *


	11. Cover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week, another chapter in our/my reylo journey! Star Wars: A New Rey (or at the very least, the old Rey wearing new clothes). Hope you enjoy~!

The file told Rey everything she needed to know, including why Ceeta had latched onto the _Princess_ nickname for her. Ben couldn’t have chosen a worse identity if he’d been trying. The file proclaimed Rey to be Tabri Starvice, the daughter of mega-rich traders. Tabri was a real girl, as it turned out, but the file said she lived in a compound due to the extreme paranoia of her family. Rey would be Tabri unleashed, and with the identity came a new wardrobe—or rather, trunk—that Yarrow revealed to Rey with something almost like envy.

Silks. Ben expected her to wear silks.

The too-smooth fabric caught on Rey’s calluses when she ran it through her hands, and she was embarrassed just imagining herself in these clothes. Who was she pretending to be? Some fine lady? The pretence couldn’t last. She had too many scars.

Well—the fiction that Tabri was a secret Force-user who’d been brought into the knights for that reason helped. The scars could be from a gentle life, after all, but one that included training in combat. It could work, but it embarrassed her. She would rather have disguised herself as a swamp monster than an heiress.

 _It’s just dress-up_ , she told herself. She used to love playing pretend, spending a day imagining she was some marooned adventurer who had to scavenge for scraps until she could rebuild a ship. It had been one of her favourite games.

This would be a game too—an important one.

Yarrow stood in the small sleeping chamber with her, the slide-out bunks currently recessed into the wall, and reached out an empty hand, palm up.

“If you give me what you’re wearing now, I can burn it for you.”

Rey dropped the new clothes back in the chest, holding her hands over her shirt protectively. “You’re not burning my clothes.”

Yarrow lifted an eyebrow. “You want to keep the dirt rat outfit for sentimental reasons, when its discovery might get you killed?”

 _Dirt rat_. Rey smiled at the thought. “You think your boss can’t keep people out of my trunk? Can’t he Force-lock it?”

Yarrow took an actual step back, eyebrows climbing. “Do you know anything about the Force?”

“Nope,” Rey said, beginning to enjoy this. Should she admit to having studied— _tried_ to study—the Jedi texts? No, of course not. Should she pretend to know more than she did? She wasn’t sure. She decided to play dumb instead, having already exhibited her power earlier. Hopefully that would keep them in check. “Totally ignorant. It’s something that lifts rocks and stops blaster beams, I guess.”

Yarrow looked at her for a long time. Rey couldn’t read her expression. Horrified? Curious?

“You know this little, but you managed to push Ceeta out?” Yarrow asked at last. “You killed Snoke?”

 _Ah_. Maybe it was wrong to play dumb; it would put her and Ben in danger. “I got lucky with Snoke, and it doesn’t take that much to push back against someone. I’d been aware of the Force for a few hours when I pushed Kylo out of my head.”

Yarrow’s stare continued—then broke when she turned sharply away. What would she say, if she trusted Rey? Rey wished she could know. Tal was ruthlessly efficient, and Ceeta was an enemy—but Yarrow’s allegiance was unclear. Perhaps it could be shifted, worked with.

“Do you like being in the First Order?” Rey asked. She allowed her discomfort to show.

“I’m—it was never about the Order.” Yarrow looked down at the box of fancy clothes, clothes Rey was meant to wear. “The First Order, the Jedi Order. None of those things matter. They’re just tools.”

“Tools for what?”

Yarrow shook her head. “I don’t know why you’re here, or what you’re trying to do, but you can stop now. I’m not giving you anything.”

Rey remembered her interrogation. _I can take whatever I want._ Rey could take what she wanted here too, probably. Or maybe not; she’d only ever taken people by surprise, and they hadn’t been guarded against her. She had no experience doing it on purpose.

“I’m one person in enemy territory,” she said. She and Yarrow were of a height, she noticed. She looked over the trunk into brown eyes, the horizontal scar-stripes stark below them. “I’m just trying to feel things out.”

Was the woman opposite her a kindred soul? Years ago, she’d been caught between a rising Kylo Ren and death. She’d made her choices, all those years ago. She knew about survival. Rey could relate to that.

“You’re saying you’re scared?” Yarrow said—asked? Rey couldn’t quite tell.

“Cautious,” Rey said.

“Good. Keep it that way.”

Rey tried not to let her nose wrinkle at that advice, like a door closing on their conversation. Botched it. Oh well—she couldn’t expect to have it all go her way. At least the identity made it clear Ben was trying to protect her, even if he’d gone strange and distant as a result. She looked at Yarrow. “I’ll change in private.”

Yarrow shrugged a shoulder, then left, and Rey was left standing over a trunk of strange clothes. No, not strange—fancy. Although as she held them up, she realised the cut wasn’t ridiculous. The material was too high-quality to put her at ease, but these weren’t the things someone would wear to a gala; they were still practical. She took a deep breath, and picked out some underthings, plus soft black trousers and a silk blouse with trailing fabric. She shivered as she put it all on, the feel of the clothes like a caress. The blouse was a rich burgundy colour Rey wouldn’t have picked, but it fell over her like a dream, and she could fit her old belt over it. New, smart boots completed the ensemble.

She stood in an empty room, alone, and ran her hands up and down herself. Soft. It was so soft, it was like air against her skin. No—better than air. Something else. The skin of someone’s cheek?

 _Ew_. That was a gross idea. It was just soft, and she had nothing to compare it to as she ran her palms over her sleeves, down her front, around to the trousers over her hips, the fabric of the trousers not as slippery as the silken blouse but just as warmly comfortable.

She didn’t want to admit how good it felt, how her skin seemed to sing under it, but—well, it did. The fabrics were like nothing she’d ever worn before, and even if she felt like an imposter at least she was a comfortable imposter. She was still rubbing herself when her spine tingled a warning.

She managed to drop her hands before Ben showed up—shirtless, again. Her cheeks burned, and she kept her gaze pinned to his left eyebrow rather than risk looking at him properly.

Nonetheless, she saw his eyes flick up and down her body—and then he moved away. She stayed where she was, not looking, and when he returned to stand before her he’d put on a shirt.

She relaxed just a little, and wondered if he knew how nervous it made her to see him like that. He must.

“Like my new look?” she asked, to distract them both from the awkwardness. She turned in a circle, then stopped, looking down at her outfit.

 _Don’t be nervous_ , she commanded herself, but he’d been so distant on the holo, so remote. It scared her.

“You’ll have to change your hair,” was all he said.

She raised a hand, touching the customary three buns. The wind earlier had been a challenge, but most of her hair was still in place.

“It’s too recognisable,” Ben elaborated, though she hadn’t voiced a protest.

She took her hair down, out of its buns, and ran her fingers through it. She looked at it laying on her shoulders, wondering what to do. Cut it? She looked up.

Ben was watching her, mouth open. He closed it when their eyes met.

She put it in a single, low bun for now. Hair in her face annoyed her; she’d solve the restyle problem later.

“So are you going to threaten me more?” she asked.

“I didn’t threaten you.”

 _You were threaten_ ing _, though_ , she thought but didn’t say. She looked around. Finally she was in a place that couldn’t be linked to the resistance. _Sharing_. She could try to do it, now.

She focused on him. His bulk, his height, his stance—how his feet touched the floor, where he placed his weight. She imagined his feet touching _this_ floor, imagined his eyes seeing this room, the bunks slid into the wall, the recessed lights glinting off streamlined First Order trunks belonging to his subordinates. Belatedly, she remembered the pile of discarded clothes, and as if he’d sensed the direction of her thoughts his eyes moved to the place she didn’t want him to look, where her old coarse clothing lay in a disarranged heap of fabric, bra band on top.

She slid the pile up against the trunk, so it would be out of his line of sight, and his head ducked in either amusement or shared awkwardness.

Embarrassment filled her. Why had she shared _now_ , with her clothes in a heap on the floor? She was dressed, but the discarded clothes in his view called attention to the fact that she hadn’t been a moment ago. And actually, neither had he, not properly.

 _Stupid Force bond!_ she thought, as if she could scold it into not allowing her to embarrass herself—and then, belatedly, realised her predicament meant she’d actually succeeded. She’d pulled him into her reality.

“Well done,” he said on cue.

“Thanks,” she said, but he wasn’t listening. He walked to the wall and pressed a button, one of the ones that made the beds slide out. For a moment nothing happened, and she focused hard on his finger, the button, the way it _would_ press in if he was really here.

There was a click, and the bunk started to slide out. He threw a glance at her over his shoulder. “Well done again.”

“What is this? A lesson?”

“Do you want to be taught?” he asked. He sat down, and like this he no longer towered.

She liked looking down at him, she decided. Or maybe she liked the way he looked up at her. Again she felt embarrassed warmth, and she rubbed her hot palms against her new clothes.

“Of course I do,” she said. “That’s why I went to Luke.”

“And was he a good teacher?”

Her shoulders stiffened defensively. “At times.”

Most of the things Luke had taught her didn’t feel Jedi-related, though. They felt… what? Life-related, and she was still putting her finger on half of them. Ben had taught her alongside Luke, in his way. She’d learned from their bond, from their one fight together. She knew what power could feel like, how it could be used, but she wasn’t sure she could use it alone with the bond inactive.

It rankled, that she needed Ben to reach her own potential. _He_ was powerful in his own right. What potential did she help him fulfil?

“I can teach you,” he said. “Soon. When we’re… when you’re here.”

“Will you teach me to stop blaster jets?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Is it hard?”

“It starts that way. You learn fast.”

His confidence in her abilities made her stomach go weird with a giddy energy she couldn’t dispel. It was almost enough to make her forget his attitude over the holo, with his people there—almost.

“So,” she said, bringing them back to before. “You thought I was coming to you to trick you? Or to kill some of your people?”

“I had reasons to believe it.”

“Are _you_ tricking _me_?”

His gaze had dropped when she mentioned the earlier conversation, but now it rose up. Eye contact sent electricity racing through her. Force, she wanted to touch him. Why did everything in her have to betray her so much?

“I told you I’m not,” he said.

“Yes, because someone tricking me wouldn’t say that.” She crossed her arms. “I thought you wanted us to be allies.”

“I do.”

“But you can’t trust me?”

His shoulders hunched. “Our interests aren’t aligned.”

“Aren’t they?” she asked. “As long as you’re not trying to stamp out the resistance, why would I betray you?”

His hands were still bare; he’d donned a shirt but not gloves. She watched him rub his knuckles, wind his fingers together.

She sat down next to him on the bed, cautious. Somehow she managed not to reach out to touch his hands, but she did watch them.

“You’re the one who convinced me to join you,” she said, gently questioning.

“Am I?” he asked, meeting her gaze. “Or was it whoever commands the resistance who convinced you?”

Rey’s eyes went wide. _What?_ “You think that? I’m not an official member of the resistance. Leia tells me that all the time, even though she could make me one just by saying. I think it’s how she forces me to make my own decisions.”

His whole body stilled at the mention of his mother. It was like ice filled the room, encasing both of them. His shock poured into her, too much of it for his own body to hold.

“Tells?” he said, very slowly. “Not told?”

She wished she wasn’t sitting so close. His stillness made fear pull at her stomach, even knowing he couldn’t hurt her.

“What?” Rey asked. “Did you think she’d give up command? She’s still—”

“ _Alive_?” Ben asked. He turned to look at her, and the pain in his face made her flinch.

Rey took him in, leaning back; he’d crowded into her space with his urgency. She took a breath. “I—yes? Why wouldn’t she be?”

“ _I saw the bridge blow up. I felt her die._ ”

Rey stared. “You thought she was _dead_? All this time?”

He searched her face, nearly leaning her down into the mattress. She stood abruptly, needing to get out of the space he dominated. She paced back and forth. The throne room, the resistance ships blowing up—she’d thought he was just as willing to let his mother die as he had been to kill his father. A necessary sacrifice. He’d thought she was dead already?

She turned to look at him. “But—haven’t you felt her? I swore you could sense her on my end, sometimes.”

“I thought I was imagining things,” he said, choked. “It wouldn’t be the first…” He trailed off, looked up. “She’s alive? Really?”

 “Yes. I thought you knew.”

He covered his face with his hands. She could feel the conflict in him, spilling into her via the bond, pain and joy so deep he didn’t know what to do with either of them. It was easier to focus on pain and confusion, and so he tried to fixate on that, to pull himself into the negative space he knew.

His mother was alive. He’d known any kind of redemption was beyond him when she died out in the freezing chill of space, when he’d _let_ her die, and now, to have it come back—

Rey stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I would have told you,” she said cautiously. “If I knew you didn’t know.”

“Would you?” he asked, clinging to anger. “Or would you use the secret against me?”

She glared, though he couldn’t see it. Hopefully he could feel it. “How could I use it against you? It would be best for you to know, if it made you less likely to crush us. So yes, of course I’d tell you.”

“Because it would be a tactical advantage.” He seemed to gather himself, straightening up, no longer hiding his face. “Of course.”

She stepped back, jaw clenching. He was blaming her for not having pure intentions towards him? What part of _opposite sides of a war_ did he fail to understand?

“You know what would have been a tactical advantage?” she asked, snippy now.

He met her gaze, standing to tower over her. It was on purpose. It had to be on purpose. “Enlighten me.”

“Killing you,” she said. She glared up. “I could have killed you when I woke up. I escaped instead. What does that tell you?”

His jaw worked.

“It could mean anything,” he said at last. “That you didn’t have time. That you were unsure you could do it without risking more. That you thought I’d die anyway, in the aftermath. You said yourself you would have killed me to get away.”

“Yes. To get away.”

For a moment they glared at each other, and then his expression softened, turned to a look of insecurity. _Longing_. She felt it again, from him. It broke some of the tension in the room, and she let out a sigh of frustration. She was exhausted from the sprint back and forth. Would she and Ben ever stand on solid ground together? For a space they had. From the moment in the hut, when she’d spilled out her heart to him, to the moment in the court room when she realised they weren’t on the same page. That their wants couldn’t align. For that brief space of time with hope alive in her heart, they’d been unbeatable.

They could find a new way, surely. If they wanted it enough they could—but he had to want it too.

They had to trust each other. And how was that possible, when she trusted him with herself but not with the world, not with anyone she cared about?

She hugged herself, and ended up stroking the arm of her blouse absently. Would she get used to wearing something like this soon, something that never scratched, with the seams so perfect it was like they weren’t there? She looked down in bemusement.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asked.

She shocked up. She was never comfortable around him anymore, but he meant the clothes. “No. It’s just that I’ve never… fabric like this is new to me. It’s so soft.”

His fingers twitched, as if he wanted to confirm the statement for himself, check if it really _was_ soft, and her breath stopped in her throat waiting for the touch—but the moment passed. Of course it did. Finn could have grabbed the shirt and felt for himself—he could have been obnoxious about it, refusing to stop touching—but when had touching between her and Ben ever been casual?

It wasn’t. And it couldn’t be. She dropped her hands, clasping them behind her.

“So what’s next?” she asked.

“My people have orders to be seen in the system where your alias lives. They’ll perform their duties. Then you’ll join me.”

The care with which he said _you’ll join me_ —like he was trying hard to make it sound casual—betrayed him before the bond did. She felt his trepidation mixing with excitement, blurring with her own feelings. She wanted him. She hoped the bond kept that desire vague, that it didn’t give her away utterly. She hoped it registered as a vague echo of his own excitement and doubt.

She swallowed. “Where are you?”

“Planetside. Meeting despicable people who want to use the First Order for their own gain.”

“Isn’t that every single person who’s ever allied themselves with the First Order?” she asked sardonically, and his look of surprise was priceless.

The startled smile that came after was something beyond that, and it made Rey’s heart both hurt and soar.

“You’re right,” he said. “But I have to let them think there’s a chance. And I’m not good at it.”

“Not good at it?” she repeated, trying for a teasing tone. “Admitting weakness to your enemy, Ben?”

She wondered if it would be too much. They’d just been at each other’s throats for the same thing—but teasing always made things easier, in her experience.

“You know my faults,” he said, very simply, and she wondered if that was true. She knew a lot of them—but not how he’d be in this specific situation. Impatient? Maneuvered by other First Order players so he could succeed despite a lack of natural talent? She imagined he needed advisors when it came to ruling—a lot of them.

She also imagined he didn’t trust a single one.

“So you’re meeting rich sponsors,” she said. “Maybe you secure some money for your organisation. What then?”

“Who knows,” he said, in a way that meant _I’m not telling you_. Because it was a bad plan? Or because he wouldn’t tell her until he trusted her? She hoped it was the second.

“We all have our challenges,” she said, glancing at the door. She’d have to sleep on board with the knights tonight, probably, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to calm down without a locked door between her and them. In other words, she was in for sleepless nights. How long until she could be alone, truly alone?

“What?” he asked.

“I won’t be able to sleep,” she admitted. “Not without knowing I’m safe from attack.”

His jaw set. “They wouldn’t disobey me like that.”

She met his eyes. “Are you sure? Ceeta worships you. In the right mood, she’d kill me and consider it a favour.”

He looked away, mouth working without sound. Eventually he said, “There are places to hide in every ship. I can—there’s space in the wall panels near the main console. You’d be shielded by essential cabling, at least during flight, and no one could sneak up on you.”

In that moment—that one, short moment—she loved him. His understanding, how he knew this wasn’t some random paranoia she could shrug off. His odd solution.

She’d never kissed anyone before. What would it feel like? She looked at his mouth, so used to uttering angry retorts. How would it respond to a kiss? It was always setting reluctantly, something tragic in the tilt of it, but if she just rose onto her tiptoes, pressed her mouth to his—

She sucked in a ragged breath. “Thank you,” she said. _Thank you_ was safe. Kisses weren’t.

“Don’t worry,” he said. A hand came up, almost touching her, then dropped. “Once you’re here, I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

She nodded. Perhaps it was wrong to trust him with her life, but she did. If she died for believing the catches in his voice, the way he looked at her, she wouldn’t feel too foolish.

She just couldn’t believe he was that good of an actor, and she was willing to stake her life on it.

“Our time is almost up,” he said. His voice acquired some urgency. “If you reach back, it might activate more often. If you’re in trouble, please—try to reach me.”

“Would that get me out of trouble?” she asked, caught on his _if you reach back_. Did that mean he’d be reaching for her at all times?

“You can borrow from me,” he said. “We already know you can. If you—”

He winked out. She reached for the space he’d occupied a moment earlier, finding it painfully empty by comparison. _You can borrow from me_. His skills, he meant, both in combat and the Force. She remembered how it felt, and wanted it desperately—the assurance of their minds syncing like the same machine with two separate bodies.

He’d been right before then, though. She needed more training, and she needed it as soon as possible.

She was travelling with three Force users who’d trained with Luke, and Ben, and Snoke. There had to be something to harvest there, and it decided her on her attitude. She’d ask to join their sparring, and try not to let on how little she knew about the Force. She’d face more danger now so she could be safe later.

Her hands sought out her sleeves again, stroking the softness like a charm, and then she stepped out into the main area of the ship. Yarrow was reading something in the pilot’s chair, while the other two worked at the main console—reading reports or orders or something. They looked up when she entered.

“Is there a cloak I wear when I’m out with you all?” Rey asked. “This stuff is fancy but not very _Knights of Ren_ -ey.”

Ceeta still wore her helmet, but Rey could feel her glare. “You’re not one of us.”

“But she’s meant to act like it,” Tal said. “Yes, there is a cloak. And a helmet.”

Rey blanched. _A helmet_? “You always wear cloaks and helmets out then? Even though Kylo stopped wearing his?”

She knew better than to call him _Ben_ , here.

“And look how weak it made him look,” Ceeta said. “It was—”

“Not this again,” Yarrow said from the pilot chair.

“Darth Vader was only apprenticed to the emperor,” Tal said, in their strange trilling voice. “Kylo must learn to command the First Order. Even within that organisation, many might be reluctant to follow a man whose face they’ve never seen.”

Rey sensed well-worn tracks in the conversation—mostly from Yarrow’s obvious annoyance. She held up a hand. “All noted. Next question: can I train with you?”

“Oh?” Ceeta said. “The princess isn’t perfect as-is?”

“I don’t want to get out of practice,” Rey said. Of course, she’d never been _in_ practice when it came to Force stuff, but she could posture a while longer. Hopefully it would carry her until she met up with Ben.

Strange, to feel him like her salvation at the end of a long road—like he really could protect her. Did she trust that instinct?

She shook herself. She trusted the need she’d sensed in him, and that was enough. Whatever he wanted, he didn’t want her dead or in pain. There was certainty in that.

“Of course you may join,” Tal said. “It will add legitimacy to your cover.”

Anything for that. Rey nodded at them, and tried not to miss the resistance.


	12. Something Borrowed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week has been a butt and a half, but here we finally are again. And. AND!! My digital download of TLJ came in *_* I wept through most of the movie, even the parts I wasn't meant to cry during. The wettest blanket, reporting for duty. I hope you enjoy the chapter, and please say hi after! (if you feel like it, I'm not your BOSS/supreme leader/jedi master.) Thank you as always for the comments on last chapter! <3

In a normal ship the size of the one the knights used, spaces would be filled with troops. There would be crew quarters for long missions, and research stations, and storage areas.

The ship was too big for four people—but that was all to the good. It meant an entire room could be used for sparring practice, away from prying eyes. And there _were_ prying eyes, when they went out. Rey had spent the morning walking around a weapons exposition on a rich planet, wearing cloak and helmet, watching crowds part before her group.

The Knights of Ren walking around as a unit was pure pageantry, but it occurred to her that it had a use, too. If the knights ever wanted to do stealth missions, all they’d need was to take the helmets and cloaks off, maybe don earthy colours, and no one would ever know it was them.

Meanwhile, during practices, there were no helmets or cloaks. Rey had seen Ceeta’s face the day before, in preparation for bed, but it had been dark. In the well-lit room Rey could stare as much as she pleased, and what she saw surprised her. Ceeta was a beautiful woman, her face all angles, but there was a permanent sourness to her expression. She couldn’t look at Rey without sneering, and the beauty all felt incidental—a side effect of bone structure, something Ceeta herself didn’t seem to appreciate. There was no vanity in a woman who glared in that ugly way.

Rey could almost respect that lack of vanity—but more to the point, standing opposite Ceeta with a practice stick in hand, she felt suitably intimidated. She was too aware of her inexperience in actual combat, and this was the first day of not just doing drills.

Drills were safe. An attack, a response. Drills meant knowing what your opponent would do, and planning accordingly. Sparring matches, though…

“Ready?” Yarrow asked.

Ceeta changed her stance, a grin splitting her face. “Ready to hit our princess? I was born ready.”

Rey clenched her jaw. The _princess_ insult was getting harder and harder to bear, but she stood by her decision not to let on. “If I win,” she said, adopting an airy tone, “will you wipe my arse for a week?”

Ceeta roared, and Rey didn’t have to wait for Yarrow’s word to know the bout had started. She lifted her stick up, catching Ceeta’s “blade” on it, and kept her stance loose below the onslaught.

And it _was_ an onslaught. Constant and heavy. Despite that, Rey knew—with some certainty—that she could have defeated Ceeta with Ben there. She would have known what was an opening and what was a feint. For now, she played it safe.

Ceeta beat her back, and she let her for the most part. The room was large, and they hadn’t drawn a ring—and it annoyed Ceeta.

“Fight back!” she yelled.

“It is tactical to observe an opponent—” Tal began, and Ceeta drowned them out by repeating herself, yelling over them.

“ _Fight back!_ ”

Rey didn’t. She told herself it was tactical, but the truth was that she couldn’t do anything but block. Her wrists and arms shook with the force of Ceeta’s blows, and she had a suspicion they were Force-fortified somehow; muscle alone couldn’t explain how hard she hit. Rey clenched her teeth.

_If you’re in trouble, try to reach me_ , Ben had said. He hadn’t meant a situation like this, with one of his subordinates posturing and Rey unwilling to lose. He hadn’t meant it that way—but she reached nonetheless. Her arms ached, and her feet shifted to deal with the onslaught, but her mind went out in all directions, like she could absorb the whole galaxy in her bid to reach Ben. She thought of their seamless bond, how it had been _easy_ in the throne room, years of experience flooding into her.

It was hers to take; he’d told her to take it. She imagined him near, his skills within her reach.

Her stance shifted when she made contact. She felt his presence. Perhaps not his physical presence, but some kind of link connecting them, and it buoyed her up until she could push back. The next hit of Ceeta’s stick against hers could be countered; Rey moved in and away, quick as lightning, unbalancing her opponent. The surprise meant Ceeta teetered.

Rey slammed her practice sword into Ceeta’s ribs, only remembering to hold back at the last moment so she gave a hard tap, not the rib-breaking blow she’d wound up for. Ceeta flinched away, hissed.

“Well done,” Tal said. “First blood goes to Rey—”

Ceeta wasn’t done. She ignored Tal’s pronouncement that the match was over, and recommenced her onslaught. Rey let herself be driven back for only a moment before she responded in kind.

She tried to notice what she did as she did it. It was hard, with the triumph of the bond soaring through her veins, telling her this was her natural state. Her body didn’t want to believe it could be separated from this knowledge, this _rightness_ , but a voice in the back of her mind was wiser. She noticed her stance, the things in Ceeta she could read, now, with Ben’s experience available to her.

The glance, the overadjustment, the fatal mistake. Rey registered it, and she made use of it to bat Ceeta’s weapon aside and hold her sword to her throat, forcing Ceeta to straighten up as she prodded tender skin.

Ceeta went up onto her toes, her frustration a shiver in the air. Rey watched her sword-arm, wary of unsportsmanlike retaliation.

“That’s enough,” Tal said. “First blood and second blood to Tabri.”

Rey stepped back. Tal’s insistence on using her fake name couldn’t stem the tide of exhilaration, blood humming with strange joy, mind caught on the way it felt when she fought with her body remembering things it had never experienced. She’d actually managed to connect to Ben’s experience, had actually fought as if—

She looked to the side, and saw Ben watching.

_Oh_. She’d been too caught up in the sparring match to notice he was physically present. She’d fought as if she had his reservoir of experience, because she _did_ have his reservoir of experience. It was right there, looking at her like she was the only thing in the world.

Her heart hammered.

“Excuse me,” she said, throwing down the sword and walking out, steps fast. Yarrow called after her, but she ignored it. Ceeta could use the calm-down time, and Rey didn’t want the knights there with the bond active. She walked to the room she and Ben had talked in before, where all the knights slept.

He appeared again, following her, but he glanced away from her at a fixed point, and she heard him excuse himself just as she had. He wasn’t alone, then—not yet. Her breath was only just starting to slow when he appeared again, no longer preoccupied with whatever was happening around him.

“Practice?” he asked. They were alone, then. At last.

She nodded. The sweat stood out on her face, and the way she’d connected to him during the fight had her craving touch, longing to press into him and feel him press back. She wanted to cross the distance between them, gather the fabric of his tabard in her sweaty palms and pull him near.

She shook where she stood, laughing a little. “I didn’t mean to pull all of you here. Not exactly an emergency.”

There was heat in his gaze, a simmering pride she could feel through the bond like the tug of a spider’s web. “You didn’t want to lose.”

“I never do.”

“I don’t mind helping,” he said. _Don’t mind_ was an understatement, she could tell, but she tried to ignore his pleasure zinging through her. Instead she noticed his glance, how he looked her up and down.

“You’re wearing your old clothes,” he said.

She looked down at herself. “We’re on the ship. I hate sweating in the new clothes. I’ll ruin them. This shirt is already half fabric and half sweat, so I can’t ruin it.”

He ducked his head to hide a smile. He was kitted out in his usual stuff, but he’d donned the cloak too in the flickering moments they’d both been moving. It made him look dramatic, and it contrasted with the feeling between them—an easier feeling than they’d had recently. She ached to touch him. What did a difference of opinion matter? He’d said he didn’t want to crush her or the resistance. Wasn’t that enough?

_Jump_ , her body told her. She quashed its wants, looked at him with bright eyes instead.

“Are you anywhere interesting?” she asked.

“Yes. I thought you might want to see.”

She looked at his cloak again. “You left the building? To take me outside?”

“I’m not outside yet,” he said. “Hold on.”

He walked through a wall, and disappeared for a while. She couldn’t help feeling like some kind of foolish girl, moon-eyed over an exciting stranger—like Ben would take her from reality into something better. Well: he would take her from _her_ reality, presumably.

He reappeared, and pulled her into his world without another word. She sucked in a breath. Her environment reformed, sleek First Order walls dissolving to show a city, all tall buildings and carved-out streets. The sky above looked more purple than blue.

 “Where are we?” she asked, turning around. Road pods in the streets moved ceaselessly, but when she looked up she saw a strange sight: pillars of earth reaching towards one another to blot out the sky, the city built into the mirrored incline. As if they were inside a hollowed-out mountain.

No: not _as if_. They _were_ inside a mountain. The city glowed with lights, and they were in the centre of it, outside a large building that stretched up to the sky between reaching pillars.

She sucked in a breath, intimidated. The First Order, the resistance—they felt like mythic figures, almost, locked in battle. Rey had joined the struggle almost by accident. But here…

There were more people than she’d ever seen in her life, living ordinary lives that weren’t dictated by battles between good and evil; it wasn’t like seeing the people at the weapons expo she’d breezed through with the knights, or the markets she’d visited with the resistance. All the people she’d seen in her life could fit in this cityscape a thousand times over. Her legs felt unreal, her knees wobbly. Her breath shuddered out of her.

Ben glanced at her. “Do you like it?”

_Like_ didn’t come close. She was awed, horrified. What did dark and light mean, compared to this? This hive of humanity, like a colony of ants scurrying? She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to suck in enough oxygen.

“Rey,” he said, moving closer. His hands stretched out, almost touching her. “Is something wrong?”

She captured her last, gasped breath and held it in, refusing to breathe more until her body calmed down. It seemed a good ultimatum. She could feel herself fade, but her panic faded too. When she sucked in more oxygen, she was calmer. Ben looked at her with obvious concern.

“I’m fine,” she said, and stepped out. They were at the edge of the great city; she could spy where the buildings and bustle faded to countryside, and she ran out to meet it. Behind her, Ben had no choice but to keep up.

The faces of passersby were a blur. Too much information for the bond to handle, maybe, and they must be a blur to Ben too. There were too many people to properly identify anyway—human and otherwise, in a variety of fashions. Was this really Empire-aligned space? Did these non-conforming people long for conformity?

When she asked, Ben shook his head. “I told you, this isn’t headquarters. It pays to leave free cities intact. There are people here we’re meant to impress, here, but it’s not officially our territory. Though it was part of the Empire once.”

She hated to hear him say _our_ when he meant _The First Order_. She ignored it, continuing to stride out to the outlook she saw. He followed. There was joy in that, too: in the way he followed her, as if they were connected by a string—but they weren’t. He could stop and deprive her of the view. But he didn’t.

They reached the outlook. A world beckoned, just down an incline. In the distance, she saw another hollowed-out mountain, the spires reaching. _Breathtaking._ The sky was a riot of colours above, pastels of all sorts, the yellow sun shimmering behind it.

There was only a dirt track, here—like the world was meant to stop. But it didn’t. Settlers had just decided on this border. There was a lot more to explore, Rey thought, and she stepped forward.

Ben stayed where he was. He watched her descend a stair of loose rock.

She held out a hand to him. “Come on. Aren’t we exploring?”

“Is that what we’re doing?”

“I can’t do it alone,” she said. She pointed at the spires in the distance. “Is that natural?”

“Man-made,” he said. “Just like the moon I showed you.”

She nodded slowly. It seemed like all Ben’s wonders were crafted by weapons and tech. Where did they have to go to be exposed to natural wonders? With the resources of the First Order, there must be places they could reach.

_This isn’t a sightseeing tour_ , she remembered. It sobered her, just a little—but the sound of Ben walking down the incline allowed her to put off the mood. She turned to him.

“Let’s keep going. As long as we can.”

He looked at her like she was a puzzle to be solved. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I beat Ceeta,” she said. _I felt you again_ , she didn’t add _. It’s right, you and me, I know it is_. Those sentiments were best left where they lay, contained inside her chest. “Why wouldn’t I be in a good mood?”

It was just that, a mood, but she’d ride this wave until its stopping point gladly.

He watched her, and again she extended her hand. He looked at it, and she sensed his unwillingness to take it. Perhaps because it always meant more, touch between them.

“You can keep your glove on, if you’re worried,” she said. Their eyes met, and his gaze tore away.

“I’m not worried,” he said.

She shook her arm, gestured again. “It’s fine,” she said, and when his hand extended—not all the way—she grabbed it. The leather of his glove was soft beneath her palm, a fabric she hadn’t felt before. However reluctant he was, his hand clasped hers firmly. She grinned up at him.

“See? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“I wasn’t,” he said. He seemed annoyed, just slightly, at her presumption. Well: he’d been presumptuous with her, before. _Don’t be afraid. I feel it too._ Who said _she_ was afraid?

His hand gripped back, though, and she dragged him on, down the uneven path. And she _did_ have to drag him; he was resistant enough to weigh her down, letting her pull him.

They didn’t speak for a long time. Rey felt the open air around her, the light, her hand clasping his. It was a welcome reprieve from her reality. Here, with them not really together, he was hers.

Once they met…

It made her sick to consider it. Once they met, she’d be Tabri Starvice, a recruit to the knights, and everything would be different. She’d be in the middle of First Order command, expected to fall in line. The thought of bending her knee to that organisation the way Ben had bowed to Snoke made her muscles clench up with unwillingness.

“Rey,” he said. She kept walking.

“Rey,” he said again, and finally she stopped. She let go of his hand, turning to face him.

“Yes?”

He watched her. “I can protect you. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“You have a plan, do you?”

“Yes.” His jaw set, watching her.

Her spine lengthened. She sensed his hesitation—his reluctance to give more than he had to warring with his desire to set her at ease. “And you won’t tell me what it is?”

“No.”

“Why not?” she asked, searching his dark eyes. _Tell me_ , she wanted to say. She thought that perhaps she could find out, if she pushed with her mind. His defences were down; she’d penetrate his barriers to some degree.

She didn’t attempt it. Perhaps that made her a bad resistance member.

“It’s not the right time,” he said. “For now, your cover story is best.”

Her cover story felt like a thin disguise. She wondered how many people remembered her face. There were the people on Starkiller Base, and then on the ship—but many of them had died in the destruction that tailed her. The rest, Ben hoped to fool.

Did he know she was a bad actress?

“You have to stay there just a little longer,” Ben said, misreading her discomfort. “Operatives have reported on an unknown knight in the region you’re in. It’s almost enough.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“For Hux to ask me what I’m doing.”

She tilted her head, and Ben looked into the distance, eyes unexpectedly golden in the sunlight. How often had she seen him in full sun?

“He has to think I don’t want him to know. It’ll make him believe it.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said. She couldn’t look away from his face now she’d noticed how the angle of the light gentled him, stripping him of the Kylo Ren mask. He was just a scarred boy, here—her ally. Tall and strong but heartbreakingly vulnerable. All his strength with the Force, all his physical power, couldn’t change the open wound at the heart of him.

If they spoke openly, if they truly trusted each other, she would have begged him then—to tell her she wasn’t being a fool to join him, that they would work things out together. Begged him to tell her he wouldn’t use her or drag her into actions that would leave her as broken as he was. She couldn’t stand not knowing if she faced her downfall here or her—something else.

She longed for her certainty in the elevator, when she’d been scared but sure. Now she was scared and unsure, and she longed like she’d never longed for anything else in the galaxy. Not even for her parents, nebulous and idealised.

She wanted Ben with all his faults, all his sharp edges. But not at the cost of the world.

“What happens when I see you?” she asked.

He looked at her, eyes narrowed against the light. “I pretend not to know you. You’ll do the same.”

“You already have it planned out?”

“There are a few ways it could happen. But your introduction to society will be a public affair.”

Her nose wrinkled. More deception, more pretending. And each time Ben pretended in front of her she grew unsure, thinking that perhaps the shell he presented was his true self. He had never _seemed_ like a good actor.

Perhaps, with the dark side at his beck and call, he could twist even his own pain to delude a scavenger from Jakku.

“You’ll be prepared,” he said.

“I’ve never been part of a public affair,” she said. “Not outside of being marched to Snoke’s throne room.” Worries seized her throat, clamped around her chest.

“That was nothing,” he said. Did he know how un-comforting that assurance was? He shook his head. “You’ll catch on. I know you will.”

So which was it? She’d be prepared, or she’d catch on? “What kind of event are we talking?”

His mouth quirked humourlessly. “Did you like the dancing?”

She stared in horror. “A dancing event?”

“A ball? Hopefully not. Depending on the timing, I think we can introduce you during an exhibition that’s coming up.”

“Of weapons?”

He shook his head. “Art.”

The First Order did art? Or, well—exhibitions of it, at least? What did that mean? And how did people get introduced? There were too many questions in her head, and all he did was watch her face, offering nothing more—but watching so closely she felt seen in every way possible. Did he know how impatient she was to get this part over with, to leapfrog into a situation where they could be real allies?

Where they could… she stopped herself.

“You’ll know more soon,” he said, “I promise.”

She nodded—and the force closed up around his vow. Pastel skies and Ben’s look of longing disappeared, replaced by all-black walls. Just like last time, she felt achingly lonely. Somehow, it was beginning to get worse—perhaps because there were no resistance members, here, to touch her when the air felt cold and dead around her. She’d grown up without loving touches, the ache in her skin easily outmatched by the ache in her belly, but she was changing.

Being alive and fed wasn’t enough anymore. She didn’t know if it was a real change in her, or whether Ben had channelled his own vulnerability into her, so she needed contact the same way he did. In Ben that need was designed to go unfulfilled by the life he’d chosen, the way he’d made it so he could trust no one. Unless…

A knock on the door shocked her out of her reverie. How long had she been shut in here?

“What?” she called through the door, not wanting to be seen. She was too flushed, and she felt like her desire could be read on her skin.

“Are you seriously going to hide after just one bout?” Yarrow asked. She sounded unimpressed. “You just wanted to win once, and that’s it?”

Rey let out a breath. Of course she had to give Ceeta a second chance to murder her; why not? This time Ben wouldn’t be there to save her.

That was fine. She didn’t need to be saved; she could take her punches, and continue sleeping in a vent for safety. Until they were together, and then—well, she’d see.


	13. Water for Scavengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter to those who celebrate it, and happy Sunday to those who don't! My egg in the yearly egg rolling festivities, Kylegg Ren, survived three hard tosses down a grassy slope today; the Force was strong with him. I hope you enjoy the chapter! Please note the rating change (but also, don't get too excited).

Rey had expected to hear the wait was over firsthand, through her bond with Ben, but somehow the first she heard of it was from Tal, who announced it when Rey entered the command room one afternoon. She’d just come back from studying First Order trivia with Yarrow in the practice room. Yarrow liked to drill her on the details during literal drills, and Rey enjoyed the practice, but it left her exhausted. Her brain was fuzzy with the strain, so she didn’t quite understand what Tal meant when she said _we’re going to the meeting point_.

“Use the fresher and get changed,” Tal said. “We’re jumping to the planet as soon as Ceeta’s back onboard.”

 _No way_. Not already. There was just no way it was hours from seeing Ben again, in the flesh, when he’d said all those things about introductions and a public event—

“Yarrow will be your escort on-planet; she’s best suited for what you require.”

What did Rey require? Someone who didn’t especially hate her guts? Someone to hold her back when she ran screaming?

“Do you walk around cloaked and helmeted everywhere outside of this ship?” Rey asked.

“We do. For various reasons, you will be expected to appear as your persona, both on-planet and at tomorrow’s gathering.”

“What are those reasons?”

“The general must see your face; it’s the only way to assuage his suspicions.”

Wouldn’t that just raise them? Or—had Hux ever seen her properly? Maybe not. He must have glimpsed her while she was unconscious, but a glimpse of a sweaty unconscious girl in homespun probably didn’t leave a big impression. Tabri dressed in silks—and Hux would hardly expect Ben to hatch a plot as insane as this one: dragging his supposed enemy back into the First Order under everyone’s nose. No one else knew Ben wanted her by his side, and so they wouldn’t expect a plot to put her there.

Rey could understand the logic behind it, a little, though she wasn’t sure she could trust it. She’d have to trust Ben’s judgement over her own misgivings, and hope some random gesture or slip-up didn’t bring everything crashing down. How Ben hoped to keep the deception going for longer than a few weeks was a mystery, but she’d face that in time.

She shifted her weight, curious at the sudden prickles on her skin. She was… excited. Impatient. How long until she saw Ben close enough to touch, without the bond doing the work?

She tried to call up suspicion and doubt to protect herself, but it wasn’t forthcoming. Today, in this mood, she trusted him. It could be the endorphins talking, but she’d face that eventuality later if she had to. For now she did as Tal told her to do, using the fresher and changing into Tabri’s rich clothing. By the time she walked into the control room, Ceeta was there—her helmet off, wearing a scowl.

“Jumping to lightspeed,” Ceeta said, and Rey watched the stars turn to stripes, sighing a little at the beauty of it. The ship zinged underfoot, and then they were in that in-between place where the world seemed held in stasis.

Their impasse—there was nothing to _do_ while jumping—made the impatience ring out clearer, and she tried to remember the few Jedi texts she’d been able to read back on the Falcon, what they’d said about meditation: how it was all breathing, focusing. She breathed.

She tried to focus.

“I wonder if things have calmed down up top,” Yarrow said, waltzing into the command room after Rey. She’d used the fresher too, though she wore the usual Knights of Ren stuff, dark cloak included.

“Calmed down?” Rey asked her curiously.

“Don’t,” Ceeta warned the others, forbidding them from answering.

Rey looked between the three of them. Yarrow looked annoyed, but she wasn’t prepared to go against Ceeta, seemingly. Tal had no such qualms.

“The supreme leader misstepped, a few weeks ago,” Tal said. “He sent out a search for Force-sensitives, then reversed the order suddenly.”

Rey stilled.

“She’s not our ally!” Ceeta yelled, standing. She approached Tal, fists clenched at her sides. Not reaching for the lightsaber at her belt, but it looked like a near thing.

“Did he say why?” Rey asked, glancing between Tal and Yarrow—like Ceeta wasn’t there.

“He’s spun it,” Yarrow said. “I think your arrival helped his case. Made it look like recruitment.”

“But why—” Rey started, and was stopped by the roll of Yarrow’s eyes.

“Isn’t it obvious? To find you. But then I guess you told him where you were, anyway, so it wasn’t necessary.”

“It was a large initiative,” Tal added, ignoring Ceeta’s sneers. “A lot of resources allocated. It made sense. It was the reversal that didn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t the supreme leader expend resources to find Force-sensitive individuals?”

Rey wished she’d been sitting down for this new information, belatedly relayed. Ben had panicked, she realised. Back when she was under, Ben had panicked and maneuvered the First Order into a manhunt, hoping to find her. She’d sabotaged his mission unknowingly, when she was just trying to gauge his response.

Was it endearing? No, not quite. He’d still been hunting her, but she could assume the panic below the gesture. He’d been trying to protect her.

She swallowed.

“It does make sense to look for Force users,” she said, focusing on Tal’s practical outlook. “He doesn’t want a new Jedi Order, or to be challenged in that way, so—”

“As if any worthy challenger would just appear,” Ceeta snapped. “He treats you almost like an equal, but you’re like a child in the Force. No one can defeat him. Not with Snoke gone.”

Rey’s bluffing hadn’t lasted the trip, evidently—but she _had_ learned a lot, training with the knights. She couldn’t regret it. Still…

“And who killed Snoke again?” Rey asked sweetly.

Ceeta’s hiss came out through her teeth, and Rey only just managed not to laugh. She was antagonising Ceeta too much, she knew, and it could only come back to bite her.

“Sorry,” she said, meaning it. “I just mean, you never know.”

For a moment Ceeta looked at her in silence, expression untwisting from its usual scowl. Was she surprised Rey had stopped posturing to apologise? Or was she thinking more sinister thoughts—like _this idiot couldn’t have killed Snoke alone, so the guy I idolise is probably a traitor_? Rey hoped for the former, and wasn’t surprised when Ceeta turned away, heading to the pilot’s seat.

The conversation was over.

“I’m sure everything is fine,” Tal said, the trilling echo in their voice comforting—Rey had come to associate it with Tal’s neutral common sense, which put her at ease with its simplicity. _Consistent_ people she could understand: people like Teedo and Unkar back on Jakku, whose wants and duplicities made sense if you knew what they valued and didn’t. She’d seen into Ben’s heart and still couldn’t predict him accurately; she doubted she’d do much better with the remaining knights.

She wasn’t sure she’d do better with the entire First Order, actually, and she was expected to meet them soon. _Tomorrow_ , Tal had said. The impatience rose again, and she regretted using the fresher; she should simply have kept on practicing with Yarrow until they reached their destination. Perhaps some light forms, no real exertion…

“I’m going to do some poses upstairs,” Rey said suddenly. “Unless I need to be briefed on something else?”

Tal ignored her for a moment, looking down at a screen. They blinked at it—that odd, diagonal blink—then looked up at her.

“I will join you,” they said. “We have the guest list, and I may tell you about some of the parties on it. Unless you wish to be questioned on your background, and politics in the cluster you came from?”

Rey had been drilled on Tabri Starvice until she’d nearly forgotten her actual background was on Jakku. She shook her head. “I could answer those questions in my sleep. Tell me about the guest list, please.”

Tal nodded, and together they headed to the practice room to ride out the rest of the jump usefully. Rey tried to think of the time in hyperspace as a reprieve—but seconds had started counting now she knew she’d see Ben within a day cycle. It scared and delighted her, and as her feelings became hard to handle pose to pose, question to question, she could feel them morphing.

Here was the belated fear that she was walking into a trap blindly, yes, it had come—but it was too late. She was willing to risk it, to risk her life and her mind, and hope the galaxy survived her gamble.

She had to remember Leia’s words: that this was a war and not a battle. As long as she was alive, she could make a difference—and Rey had always been good at surviving.

 

* * *

 

 

Rey’s confidence lasted until the hotel lobby.

A hotel was a place where rich people went to sleep and recover between events in foreign cities, and if this one was any indication they were also a place Rey would never feel at home. The city outside was intimidating enough—an odd mix of metal and glass in a temperate, breezy climate—but this shiny place was worse, because technically she was meant to be here.

Yarrow handled everything with just a gesture. She cut an intimidating figure in all-black, face masked, and didn’t have to wait with the other new arrivals. She was handed a set of keys almost the moment she showed up, and only nodded in acknowledgement to the attendant who handed them to her.

 _Huh._ A tiny, analytical part of Rey stored the information up. If the resistance knew where the First Order would be, they could get somewhere with a Knight-of-Ren costume. That was good to know—if they ever got to the point of actual spying, instead of only running for their lives. For the time being Rey followed Yarrow up smooth pearlescent steps, wearing her real face and a costume of her own.

People noticed her, but she wasn’t sure they were First Order people. She supposed her demeanour mattered regardless; the more people she fooled the safer she was. She kept her back straight and remembered to look like she belonged.

As she became Tabri, she remembered herself over and over: Luke’s disciple, Leia’s mentee, a force in her own right. It was the same thing that had allowed her to stand on a floor made of nothing miles above a planet.

“Here we are,” Yarrow said after a succession of hallways, and opened the rounded door to a suite that gleamed with warm yellow tones flattered by accentuating blues. It was huge; several people could practice forms in the main room, and a careful duo could duel. Light from outside fell across a portion of the room, and when Rey wandered up to the window she saw the cityscape from a height, the parks and avenues below reduced to pleasing shapes. There were two low steps inside of the room, setting the window’s level below the bed and the other furniture, and it seemed so utterly useless Rey despaired for the world.

How was this the same galaxy she’d dug for scraps in? This room of plenty could belong to one person, while another had nothing. It hurt her brain to even consider it.

Yarrow whistled, the lack of reverb telling Rey she’d taken the helmet off, and Rey turned and followed her to the next room—a bathroom, as it turned out. A _giant_ bathroom, with more within-room stairs, and a recessed portion on the higher level, gleaming taps set into it. _A bath_. A water bath. There was a water shower, too, and Rey didn’t see any sonic shower. She looked in the cupboards below the sink to find a sonic showerhead—like it was an odd thing the hotel’s more eccentric quests might want.

Rey had never bathed in water, unless a freezing dunk on Ahch-To counted. She’d never used a water shower. Her skin itched, suddenly, wondering what it would be like to stand naked under a shower stream. Did it feel good? People paid a lot of money for it; it must feel good. She resisted the urge to shed her silken layers and stride right into a stream of temperature-controlled water.

“Do you stay in places like this?” she asked Yarrow, whose wistfulness suggested she didn’t.

“Of course not. This is part of the cover. We’re soldiers.”

 _Tell that to your face_. The stark horizontal stripes across Yarrow’s cheeks were intimidating as ever, but the longing in her eyes was unmistakable.

“Do we have time? You could use the tub, and no one would know.”

Yarrow shook herself. “This is your room. I have one on a lower level.”

So she _did_ get some perks. Rey nodded.

Yarrow checked the time on her comm, frowning. “There should be a delivery, any time n—”

A ding at the door said the delivery had come. Yarrow donned the helmet she’d stuffed under her arm as they went back to the main room, and she opened the door to an empty hallway, unlit lightsaber in hand. No: not empty. There was an oblong droid wobbling and beeping, saying it was here for Tabri Starvice. Yarrow let it in after a scan.

“Stand there,” Yarrow told Rey, pointing, and Rey obeyed. The droid came to stand opposite her. It was kind of cute, the droid. Not BB8 cute, but sort of deferential, and it had two pincers that went up and down as it took her in, reminding her of tiny wings. Its movements stopped, though, and a blue light came from its centre. It swept her up and down, blinding her. She flinched and turned her head away.

“Measurements,” Yarrow said. The droid circled her and repeated the process, then beeped a few times. “Good, that’s done.”

“What’s it for?” Rey asked.

“Clothes.”

“ _More_ clothes?”

Yarrow sighed. “What’s your background?”

Why did she want to know that now? “What’s yours?” Rey countered on instinct.

“My mother was a handmaiden. She slept with a senator who made promises he didn’t keep.” Yarrow’s voice was challenging. “She taught me everything I knew, and then it turned out I was Force-sensitive and she put me forward for the Jedi Order. We know how that ended. What’s your background?”

“Scavenger on Jakku. I’m surprised Kylo didn’t tell you.”

“Other people have told me lots of things,” Yarrow said. The twist of her mouth said not all information had been willingly given. “I wondered, though. It seems anticlimactic. No great legacy?”

Rey couldn’t fault Yarrow for expecting a great legacy when she’d fabricated the same story for years to keep from facing the truth herself—but it still stung.

“My great legacy is still being alive,” Rey said, jaw tight. Why had this become a pressure point?

Ben in the throne room, hand outstretched. _You come from nothing, you’re nothing_. As if one logically followed the other. The senator’s son, the child of legends, telling her that.

She shook herself.  

Yarrow was looking at her in silence. “Don’t bite my head off,” she said eventually, even though Rey’s response had been mild. Rey didn’t comment.

“I should get some things organised,” Yarrow said. “Don’t open this door for anyone but me.”

“Why?”

“Are you an idiot? Because even if no one here is trying to kill Rey from Jakku, they might be trying to spy on Tabri, or kill a rising knight before she’s established as part of the group, or any number of things. You’re thick, sometimes.”

Rey wanted to point out that her stupid questions were important to get a sense of the situation beyond what she knew, but it was fine when Yarrow insulted her. It felt almost friendly—or at least not antagonistic. It was how Yarrow treated Ceeta and Tal when she was short-tempered.

 _That_ was progress. Ish.

“Go have a bath, or something,” Yarrow said. “Why not get something good out of this?”

Rey looked towards the bathroom guiltily, nervous for some reason. It felt so…

“You’ve never had one before?” Yarrow guessed.

“How’d you know?”

“Your dirt rat aura,” Yarrow said. Their eyes met, and for a moment it was tense—but then Yarrow’s face broke into a smile. “It’s strangely charming.”

Rey couldn’t keep herself from smiling back. “Your anger is growing on me too. Why’s that?”

Yarrow’s head tilted. “Because you’re angry too. You just haven’t noticed it yet.”

Rey blinked. Hadn’t she? There was no time to respond; Yarrow took off, just after that, leaving Rey alone in a suite fancy enough to satisfy an emperor.

For a long time Rey walked around, gazed out the windows at the world below, held staring competitions with the bathtub. Could she really just take a bath? Right here?

Eventually curiosity got the better of her. She pressed buttons until water started to fill the recessed tub, amazed despite herself when it actually worked. She held her fingers below the stream. It was disgustingly warm for drinking, but this wasn’t drinking water. That was such a strange idea.

Another tap dispersed a stream of soap into the mix, which started to bubble under the pressure of the water jets she’d activated in her fumbling. Sweet, floral scents filled her head and the room. She watched in fascination as the bath filled and bubbles rose, and she stopped the stream of water when the level of it was high. Sticking her hand into the tub was almost uncomfortable; the heat was intense.

Intense… but not unbearable. She looked down at herself, at the clothes she wore as Tabri. They were already too much for her, and so was this bath—but both of these things were here for her to use, to wear or enjoy, so why wouldn’t she use them? Her belly was full, there was nothing else to do, and she’d already wasted all this water satisfying her curiosity about what a bath looked like. Why not sink in?

She stripped slowly, like it was part of a ritual. It _felt_ like a ritual. Outside the sky was going from bright yellow-blue to a more striking pink-orange mural, the clouds moving fast, but she wasn’t tempted to lower the privacy screen. She didn’t mind the uncovered window, even as she got naked beside the tub. With the air of a petitioner she slid inside the hot water—and held her breath.

 _Hot. Hot. Hot!_ It hurt, almost, but it was a pleasant almost-hurt that became relaxing after the first ten seconds. She let out the breath she’d held, grinning. So _strange_. The sensation! It wasn’t anything like a sonic shower, where everything was dry and a little painful. This was… liquid. Well, of course it was.

She leaned back in the tub, sighing. The warm water lapped at her, and she trapped some soap bubbles to rub against her armpits, then her neck… then the backs of her knees, the soles of her feet and between her toes, the insides of her elbows—all the places that got sweaty. It felt so strange, and at the same time it was so comfortable she ended up twirling until she came up coughing, having gone face down and gotten water up her nose.

The bond was dormant, thankfully. She could only begin to imagine the awkwardness of Ben finding her naked and splashing about. It would be… her stomach tightened. If it wasn’t ridiculous, then it would be…

She laid back in the water, breathing through her nose. Sweat stood out on her face, but she didn’t wipe it. They’d been in states of undress together often enough. He’d been shirtless, she’d been in underthings. Her discarded clothes had been on the floor, or she’d been in his bed. All intensely vulnerable moments, but they’d managed not to talk about them. Soon she’d see him minus the bond, and all those moments would mean something else.

Her bottom lip trapped itself between her teeth as she thought about it. She bit down just hard enough to feel it. Her body was no mystery to her, but it had always been constant as a machine—just something to fill with needed meals, stretch to get the kinks out, pleasure to relax. The pleasuring was private—she’d never needed anyone to tell her it was something you did out of sight of others—but it was also non-sensual. Like replacing a part: a simple process, necessary but uninspiring. Recently, her body had been calling out for more, and she’d ignored it because she was never alone. Not even when she was alone. Her skin ached for a satisfaction she’d never given herself.

There was no one here, for now. The bond was inactive, and she was under an obscuring layer of bubbles. She raised a wet hand to scrub her face of sweat, perfunctory at first and then turning to exploration. She touched her brows, her cheekbones, her mouth—as if they belonged to another. She _was_ another, now, than she’d been. A stranger to herself, with wants she wasn’t familiar with.

Her fingers skimmed damp skin gently, and her face sang under the attention. When she sank back against the rim of the tub again, she let her hands drop, fingers spreading against her sides. Very slowly she dragged them over her stomach, then up beneath the water, to the undersides of her breasts. It felt good to hold them there for a moment before sliding them up over the swell of them, small and tight and wanting. That was all of her, she supposed, but it released something in her to squeeze them, pulling at her nipples until the ache moved down her body, making her squirm. Her lower lip trapped between her teeth again.

Just… she let a hand descend, keeping the other clenched close. It came up over her mouth as she touched between her legs, the odd sensation of water against her rendering the familiar strange.

Of course it was strange. Everything was strange now, even her body—which she’d trusted for so long. She let it run the show for now, touching fingertips to the bundle of nerves at the juncture of her thighs very carefully, with the gentleness of a lover. Her nipples ached with it, and she bit down on her knuckle. She didn’t have a lover. Of course she didn’t have a lover, she’d never wanted one, but unbidden—

She thought of him. She’d tried not to, in case it activated the bond, but with her body one sweet ache she couldn’t help it. Her own bony hands were replaced with his blocky ones in her mind’s eye, in her senses. She knew them as well as her own, could imagine them on her skin. Her breath came in gasps, scared of inviting the real Ben into her room even as she twisted his memory to her purpose, imagining his hand curving against her intimately, the look he’d wear—

Her whole body clenched up, skin and muscles tight. The look he’d wear… she couldn’t predict it. Intent, definitely. Perhaps searching. Would he move his fingers inside of her and still look at her that way, like he sought something in her eyes?

Each breath she took seemed to hold less oxygen, coming in gasps, leaving in shuddering exhales. She imagined his palm rubbing her, thick fingers plunged deep inside of her and then—why not?—she imagined where it might go from there. She wasn’t a child. She knew how it worked when people… when they…

The tub was big, but it might not be big enough for what she imagined next—for both of them, like that. That didn’t matter; it was a fantasy. Her knees hit the sides of the tub as her legs spread wide, her hand moving faster. She imagined it was Ben pushing apart her knees, settling himself between them, looking down at her through the steam with eyes that begged for permission. Hot sweat sheened her face, dripping into the bathwater as she imagined reaching for him— _don’t reach for him in reality, not the real him_ —in silent demand.

Fuzzily, she imagined him lifting her, lining himself up. Her chest heaved with want, hand close to cramping, but her mind kept hold of the image, his broad body between her legs, and then—

She gasped audibly as she imagined it: the push of him against her, unyielding and clumsy, and then her flesh giving, slick from her own desire. She bit her lip, breath short, muscles screaming. Surely this was depraved on a whole new level, allowing herself to imagine this—to imagine Ben filling her, her body splitting around his girth. She couldn’t help it; she wanted it. Wanted to feel him inside, around. To hear what noises he made when he was overwhelmed with sensation. The bathwater was too hot, the steam stifling. Sensation was painful, sweat dripped—and still she imagined the thrust of him inside, how complete she’d feel, how his hands would create bruises on her hips from lifting her. Her panting breaths didn’t supply enough oxygen to still her trembling limbs, wrist and forearm hurting.

 _Please_ , she thought. She begged for the sensation inside of her, a feeling she’d never felt or wanted to feel. She only wanted it with him, even knowing they disagreed. Knowing their versions of reality differed. She wanted like she’d never wanted before, and so she imagined herself thick and full of him, come hell or high water. She drank in the thought of it, skin aching, and her knees banged against the tub again as she started to come. It hurt, the release of tension. It was like nothing else—no other time. Inviting Ben into her body—into her fantasies—made all her usual, bloodless masturbation seem grey by comparison. Her nipples went hard and painful, her lungs bursting, her every inch vulnerable as lightning struck. She shuddered with the force of her release, tearing through her in waves. Cresting, cresting, cresting, as if it would never end. Each crashing wave brought on another—but with each wave her hand slowed.

Her body relaxed, only spasming a little in remembered pleasure as time began to move again. It would always want more, but she’d ignore it for now.

She laid back, drawing her legs together gingerly. Her cheeks prickled with embarrassment, and her muscles ached. The images she’d conjured played in her mind. She’d never seen Ben naked, and had no idea what he looked like below the waist. What she’d imagined just now was filthy, and couldn’t be wanted, but there was no one to keep her thoughts clean. Her only worry was that Ben would read it in her, somehow—see the fantasy in her mind’s eye and know she’d used his image to get off.

 _What if he does it too, though?_ she wondered, and held her breath at the terrible thought. What if Ben had masturbated to the thought of _her_ the way she’d just done, somewhere in some First Order bedroom, hand wrapped around his aching cock—

She groaned and turned in the bathtub, halfway attempting to drown herself. Bubbles streamed from her mouth. _Stop, stop, stop._ He’d read this in her when they met, if she wasn’t careful. She wasn’t joining him because she was some idiotic sex addict, addled at the thought of him inside her. She was joining him because this was a war, and she was one of the chess pieces, and so was he—on the opposite side of the board.

It didn’t matter that she ached or wanted. She had her role to play. Tomorrow, she would meet him. She’d _see_ him, and have to pretend like it was normal—like it didn’t shift her world into its proper orbit to see and feel him close. How was it possible that the person who made her feel most out of step also felt like the place where she belonged?

Her oxygen supply was running short. She blew out the last of her breath and turned, inhaling hard once her mouth was out of the water. The floral scent of the soap made her nose itch, but she took deep breaths of it to calm herself. It was luxury like none other; she had to enjoy it while she had it, just like Yarrow had told her.

 _Tomorrow_. Tomorrow, she’d see him again. She anticipated and feared the day in equal measure. She set her feet against the edge of the tub, wiggling her toes, remembering the previous minutes in embarrassing detail despite herself.

Perhaps her anticipation and her fear weren’t _quite_ equal.


	14. The Night Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the best; thank you so much for the encouragement last chapter and for sticking with me. We have ONE MORE WEEK until they meet! I'm sincerely not meaning to drag this out; this pacing just... happens! They've met in my word file. Please enjoy this little update!

It was full night when the bond activated. Rey’d changed into Tabri’s ridiculous nightclothes—an embroidered dress-thing she personally thought might do for a fancy party—but she wasn’t in bed. She was standing at the window looking down at the city, too keyed up to sleep even with a locked door between her and the world.

Ben’s presence felt like a relief instead of a threat. When she looked up at him his distracted glance—to her and then away, expression tight—told her he wasn’t alone, and she held her peace. Instead of talking she took him in, noting his clothes; he was still dressed in his usual dark military garb, not prepared for bed like her. She tried to put her fantasy from earlier from her mind, and was glad he was distracted. She didn’t want him to notice her awkwardness now that she’d so thoroughly acknowledged the attraction between them.

 _You’ve known_ , she thought, and it was true. It had taken so few of the bond’s sessions to break down her walls and tell her there was something more between them. It was a heady mix of his understanding and his powerful physical presence—and perhaps the way he looked at her. But she hadn’t imagined them together like that before, not vividly with a hand between her thighs, and now she looked at his clothes and saw only how they could be undone in the heat of a moment.

She dragged her eyes away, to the city that cast beams of light into her unlit room. She cradled her own elbow, free hand up by her face. A moment ago she’d been biting her nails, but she tried to curb that dirty habit now she had an audience.

There were rivers of light, down there. Yellowish headlights from road pods provided movement, but so did shifting advertisement screens. They sparkled in every colour, moving on quickly. In the manicured parks the lights were an unmoving contrast, set up along paths and flickering only when the wind ruffled the leaves of trees that shaded them. She wished she was out there feeling the cool breeze against her skin. She wished no one knew where she was.

Ben knew exactly where she was in the galaxy, could _reach_ her here, and it was going to give her an ulcer. How were they meant to face each other in person? It was unbearable being away from him, but the prospect of real contact made her heart feel like it might explode. This time there was no Snoke to kill, no guards to fight. Where did that leave them?

 _With the Tabri act_. They had that pretence to keep them apart, at least. That was almost a relief; she was scared he’d absorb her somehow, if there was no wall between them.

“Leave it,” Ben said, to the people he was with. “It’s not our priority.”

A pause where an unseen person spoke, then: “Have someone look into it, but I don’t want forces deployed to the sector. We’re their ally, not their hired help.”

She wondered what he’d do if she walked over there and applied her old tactics. Told jokes, made stupid sounds. It would seem odd, given the situation. What about going over there and laying her head on his chest, leaning on him in the presence of all his underlings?

She was tempted. Only the knowledge that she’d see him soon and would have to look him in the eye—without the assurance that the bond would whisk her away—kept her from invading his space. She shifted her weight though, impatient and not, unsure whether she wanted his undivided attention.

“Send me the report,” he said, with an air of finality. His posture changed, further indicating an end to the meeting.

He glanced over and caught her watching him. She looked back down at the city quickly, embarrassed he’d noticed. It felt like she was waiting for him to spend time with her, when she hadn’t asked for the bond to activate or anything. It just _had_. It was like before, after Crait, when they hadn’t wanted—

No. It wasn’t like that. She let out a breath.

“They’re gone,” Ben said quietly. He came to stand by the window at her side, though he left a good space between them. “I hear you arrived at the hotel safely.”

She looked at his feet touching the floor. _This floor_. She imagined the glow of city lights from the world below lighting him up, the way it played across her own skin. His gaze moved to the window.

“I was right,” he said. “You’re a fast learner.

She thought of her fantasies earlier today and bit her tongue. She was embarrassed to look at him or even speak, with the memory of her own desire so clear in her mind. The silence lengthened.

“You’re alone?” he said, looking around. “Yes—I believe you are.”

What was she even meant to say? What did they normally talk about?

“Are you angry with me?” he asked eventually.

“Why would I be angry?” she asked, breaking her silence; he looked relieved.

“Cold feet?” he offered. She looked down at her bare feet, set into lush carpet. No—they weren’t cold.

“Not yet.”

“Is it worse or better than last time?” he asked. _Last time_ meaning when he’d marched her up to Snoke’s room. She tried to remember how she’d felt then. Scared shitless but determined. Now…

“I’m not sure. Last time, I thought I’d be taking you back with me. Now I know I’ll be staying.”

“There will be measures in place to make sure you do,” he said, as if he was trying to goad her. He said it like a challenge—but her lack of reaction softened the set of his face. “Just in case. I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner, but it’s unavoidable.”

“It could be avoided if you trusted me.”

The jerk of his chin wasn’t a yes or a no; it seemed more like a rejection of her comment than anything else.

“You’re right,” she said, teasing humourlessly. “I wouldn’t trust you inside the resistance either.”

“And before? When you thought you’d be bringing me back?”

“That was different. In my vision you turned. Why wouldn’t I trust you?”

 “Completely?”

She looked at him unflinchingly. What did he mean, _completely_? It didn’t matter. She nodded. “Completely.”

The clench of his jaw suggested bitterness—much too late. That ship had sailed. It had taken a piece of her with it—some bright-eyed piece she’d valued once it was gone. Now they were here, in a hotel room. A night removed from meeting again.

They stared out at the city together. She waited for the session to end, not sure what she was meant to say, but it held on. Was that her fault, his—or just a trick of fate? Did he know?

“Rey,” he said, voice rough. He watched her, entreaty in his face. “Tomorrow—”

He stopped.

“Yes?”

He shook his head. “Just do your best.”

“To what? Pretend I’m an heiress?”

His head dipped slowly.

“I’m not sure anyone will believe it,” she said. She was hyperaware of her scarred arms, her wiry frame. Neither feature suggested easy living.

He followed the direction of her stare: the bare, patchwork skin of her arms. The way he looked at it was different from the way she did. He wasn’t measuring anything; he was just looking. His mouth worked, and he dragged his eyes up slowly; they came away glazed.

“Aren’t you a Jedi?” he said. “With your power, you could convince anyone.”

“I don’t know how to use it that way, on so many people.” She remembered the guard, the strain on her mind from controlling just one person. How could she do it to a whole room busybodies?

“Just think it hard, in a direction.”

“That works for you?”

“No. I don’t use it like that.”

That was interesting: that he didn’t use the Force to help his reputation. That—wait. She peered at him, suddenly registering the words he’d used earlier. “You see me as a Jedi?”

The Jedi were his enemy. That much was clear.

“You see yourself that way,” he said. “What I see doesn’t matter.”

She folded her arms, glaring down at the city. “Right. You see a future Sith.”

“No.”

“No? I won’t turn?”

“Jedi, Sith—I don’t care about that.” His chin jerked.

“What matters is where I stand,” she said, remembering his words. _You’ll stand with me._ Force, she wanted to. She just wished she could rewire his brain first.

“Yes.”

“Well,” she said, letting out a large breath, “for the moment…”

“This moment?” he asked, indicating them—in the hotel room, before the window.

“For the foreseeable future,” she corrected. He nodded slowly, his jaw tight. It wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted her hand in his, following where he led—into whatever dark, uncertain future he plunged himself. But he didn’t own her.

No matter what the current between them said—no matter what she fantasised about—he _didn’t_ own her. No one ever would again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. She stepped back from the window, walking past him to the bed. Her restlessness was a live thing skittering along her skin, but she ignored it. She sank beneath soft sheets resolutely, moving so her back was to him.

She could feel him looking.

“Sleep well,” he said. His gaze made shivers run up and down her spine.

“You should sleep too,” she said. “Big day ahead.”

“I know.”

She curled up tighter, and nothing more was said.

It took a long time for the bond to fizzle out.

 

* * *

 

 

“Here it is,” Yarrow announced as she walked in the door, holding a box. She brandished it like a treat—like there was cake inside.

“Hm?” Rey said. Yarrow’s enthusiasm drew her to the table when Yarrow deposited the box. There was a decorative ribbon around it.

Maybe it _was_ cake?

Yarrow pulled at one of the ribbon’s loose ends, and it unravelled in a silken heap. The box unfolded slightly, and Yarrow undid it the rest of the way.

There was a bundle of shining cloth inside—no cake. Rey looked on curiously before remembering yesterday’s measurements. For this? For more clothes?

“Go on,” Yarrow said, stepping back. “Look closer.”

“Why?”

“How are you going to wear it if you don’t pick it up?”

Rey stepped forward cautiously. “Wear it? Tonight?”

“Yes.”

She reached out. When she touched the fabric, it wasn’t much different from what she’d been wearing lately: a mix of silk and other confections. Her hand fisted in it and drew it up, the other coming to join it.

Okay, she’d been wrong. It was different.

It was a dress.

She peered at it like it might attack her. For a moment it reminded her of Snoke’s robe—golden—but it was much lighter. Shining, burnished gold, the bodice of it covered in tiny teardrop gems. It hung strangely in her grip, made awkward by its lack of shoulders or neck. There didn’t seem to be much of a back, either, though the bodice was stiff enough to sort of give it shape.

“It’ll make more sense once you put it on,” Yarrow said. She seemed amused. Had Rey’s disdain shown in her face?

“Should I put it on now?”

“You’d better.”

Rey wrinkled her nose. She didn’t mind being naked in front of Yarrow, but she minded the thought of wearing this dress with someone to witness the event—how stupid and out of place she’d look, before whoever sent this realised the mistake they’d made.

She steeled herself. _Is this playtime or is this war?_ she asked herself, annoyed. It wasn’t playtime. Therefore…

She shucked her clothes, leaving only her underwear, and crawled into the undone dress from below. It was so awkward even Yarrow seemed moved to pity; she came and held up relevant bits, telling Rey where to put what. Eventually, if Rey kept both hands on her chest, clasping the bodice to her, she was almost sort of wearing it.

“This brings you no joy, huh?” Yarrow said, still with that amusement tinging her speech. She stood behind Rey, fastening a line of hooks at the small of her back. The touch made Rey shiver.

“What do you mean?”

“Expensive clothes—that doesn’t make you happy?”

Rey looked down at herself. She sparkled in the light, and the dress fit her like it had been made to mould to her body, her lack of a bra band compensated for by the way the bodice was made. She craned her neck to catch a glimpse of herself in the room’s mirror.

“It’s strange,” she said. It felt good to possess something expensive, she supposed. If trouble came during the ball she could sell the dress and finance a daring escape. But the clothes themselves?

She liked the textures, the oddity. But it was unreal, ill-fitting no matter how well it was made. The long trailing skirt felt like a trap waiting to trip her up.

It was claustrophobic despite its beauty, or perhaps because of it—and beauty belonged to other people. She knew and liked how she looked in her own things; this was a costume.

Yarrow’s hands moved to Rey’s neck, loosely tying shimmering cords holding the high-necked bodice up. It made Rey nervous, the way this dress was designed—someone could pull those cords to choke her. As it was, Yarrow tied them and left them dangling elegantly. Rey let her hands drop from holding the bodice up, wishing she could put another tight knot in the ties so they would feel more secure and less like a garrotte waiting to be used. She hiked up the skirts and trekked to the mirror, looking at herself.

She looked like a girl in a costume. With her shoulders and arms bare her scars were on display: the burns on her wrists and forearms, the odd scar on her shoulder from the fight in the throne room. She wrinkled her nose at herself.

“Are there gloves?” she asked, meeting Yarrow’s gaze in the mirror.

“No. But there are cosmetics to hide all this.” Yarrow gestured at Rey’s patchwork skin. “Guess there’s a reason for the long sleeves and the dirt rat bandages.”

“Yeah,” Rey said, lifting her chin, “the reason is that they look cool.”

A laugh burst from Yarrow. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that. For tonight, though, you’ll have to put up with what I give you.”

“We really can’t ask for sleeves?” Rey asked. She turned this way and that, looking at her exposed skin. She looked a mix of stately and glamorous, with the dress shaping her, encouraging her to elongate her spine—but only if she ignored the scars. And her face, and her hair. She blew out a breath.

“Maybe _you_ could ask for sleeves,” Yarrow said, with a measuring look. Rey’s mouth opened. What was Yarrow suggesting, exactly?

She was testing the waters, Rey suspected. Trying to work out her boss’s plan, her boss’s connection to this girl. Rey felt her cheeks heat, but they stayed blessedly unchanged in the mirror—no blush to give her away. She just _felt_ like she was blushing.

Like she was being watched—and worse, seen.

“I guess cosmetics will have to do,” Rey said, hoping it didn’t tell Yarrow too much. “Can you really hide all this?”

“Don’t insult me. Of course I can. It’ll just take time.” Yarrow walked around her. “Plus, I have to teach you how to walk. You don’t hike up your skirts like a toddler—you kick your dress out in front of you. Shoulders back. Chin high.”

Rey’s mouth twisted.

“You’ll get it eventually,” Yarrow said. “Here. I’ll show you.”


	15. Reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're here, thank you so so much for sticking with me up until this point! I'm sure the wait was torturous and YOU'RE THE BEST FOR BEING HERE. At long last our heroes(?) meet in the flesh. 
> 
> In less good news I might need two weeks before the next update because I don't have enough saved up at the moment—if you want to help your kudos and comments do a lot to keep my writing energy up! Thank you to everyone who's supported me so far, your comments make my day. Oh! By the way, I got an ask on the dress Rey is wearing, and I don't have a good answer but if you're curious [these are my thoughts](http://reyloments.tumblr.com/post/172935872525/hey-i-was-just-wondering-if-you-had-a-inspiration). Please fuse my rudimentary idea with any stylistic elements you like from [this collection](http://mysecretfanmoments.tumblr.com/post/166104770387/fashion-runways-elie-saab-at-couture-fall-2017) and I will be very pleased at your mind-picture!
> 
> Please enjoy!

Rey ought not have worried about people seeing through her disguise. The person Yarrow painted and primped for three hours straight looked nothing like she did by the end of it; even she barely recognised herself. Her eyes were startlingly direct in her face, her lips subtly rouged, her arms unscarred as a baby’s unless you looked really closely. She couldn’t stop staring at herself in the mirror.

 _So odd_. Odd, but comforting. Like this it almost felt like battle armour and a cunning disguise all rolled into one. It would be easy to remember the role she played, that she wasn’t Rey the scavenger from Jakku.

She was Tabri from a planet where people took luxurious baths and had a day to spend getting pretty before events.

Outside, the sun had set. That was the start time for the party: nightfall. As if it needed to be more dramatic than it already was. She and Yarrow were ready to go, but they were meant to come late, and so they had a little longer to wait.

It was interminable.

“Let’s see your walk one more time,” Yarrow said. She wore her Knights of Ren stuff, helmet and cloak on the room’s table, and the thought that a Knight of Ren had just been Rey’s handmaiden made Rey miss Finn terribly. She needed to tell him so she could see the look on his face. Her money was on exasperated disbelief, but she wasn’t a hundred percent sure.

As it was, Yarrow spent the rest of the wait coaching Rey on how to walk and stand, finding fault with everything she did—but eventually, she declared her ‘good enough’. When Yarrow’s back was turned, Rey took up the ties at the back of her neck—beautifully but loosely knotted—and knotted them again so tightly no casual bystander could undo it. _Better._

Her impatience turned to nerves—full-body nerves that produced tremors she had to suppress as Yarrow led her out of the room at long last. Time stretched and thinned, warping as a helmeted Ceeta joined them in the lobby, as they piled into a fancy road pod, as they walked towards a grand building all lit up at night. Pleasant water features and light displays drew the eye on the way to the entrance, but Rey looked only at the building.

Her breath was coming fast. He was in there; she could feel him on one of the upper levels, feel the purr of power that spelled his name. Right now she didn’t know if it spelled _Ben Solo_ or _Kylo Ren_.

All of her skin tingled. Was it arousal or fear? Her nipples were pulled tight beneath her sparkling bodice, like they begged for contact, but the breezy night air wicked new sweat, too. Perhaps she was both. With Ceeta and Yarrow striding on either side of her, she didn’t have time to stop and take stock of her feelings.

Then, quite suddenly, she was in the same building as Ben Solo. The hum of his presence was so strong she almost expected to see him in the main area—but if he was there he was hidden in the mass of people. There was a sparkling bar, elegant people, exhibits showing fine sculptures and tapestries from various First Order thefts fanning out as far as the eye could see. There were floating staircases leading to other floors beyond this room’s uneven, high ceiling. She swallowed as her eyes traced the nearest steps up.

Yarrow nodded at an attendant standing near the doors, and the attendant nodded back before disappearing into the crowd.

Rey knew what she was meant to do. She was meant to look around at the exhibits like she was waiting to be summoned, but she thought she might be sick. She was grateful for all her exposed skin allowing her to cool off at least a little.

 _You look like you belong here_ , she reminded herself, and lifted her chin. Without glancing at Yarrow and Ceeta—their escort duty would relax, here—she strode off, thinking imperious thoughts. Once she got in the way of it, she found she could make crowds part by walking at them purposefully enough.

She stopped in front of a glass case tastefully exhibiting an arrangement of small masks, and gazed at the empty eye sockets of the most ornate one there. Someone else might think she was deep in thought, considering the art, but she was pulling herself together, steadying her nerves. Here she was, in enemy territory; she’d been in enemy territory before.

Perhaps she was about to be convicted of murder in the most convoluted trap ever laid. It was a possibility, but also somewhat illogical; there were easier ways to get her here than this pretence. If Ben’s word could be trusted, she was here to take a spot near the top of this terrible organisation, and she’d walk like that. Act like that.

A waiter offered her a tray of drinks, and she took one to keep her hands busy. She wouldn’t drink from it, though; some part of her was sure it would be poisoned.

“Amazing collection, isn’t it?” a man said, sidling up to Rey. He was shorter than she was, but much older. Bushy grey brows lifted over brown eyes that took her in appreciatively. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass.

“It’s impressive,” she said, affecting an airy tone.

“ _Impressive_?” The man cocked his head. “My dear, have you ever seen anything like this? The array of influences, the sheer nerve of displaying the original copy of the Yorn light string tapestries in a public place like this—it goes beyond _impressive_. The First Order is power, young lady. True power.”

“And this night is a display of it,” she grasped at last. They were showing important people who’d pay for the chance to see this collection how far their influence spread—all the corners of the galaxy they touched. So that was why the First Order feigned interested in culture while working to homogenise it.

“What else does one do with power?” the man said, smiling unpleasantly. Rey tried to place him from the guest list Yarrow had reviewed with her—but there were more people here than were on the list. Percentage-wise, he was likely to be an arms dealer, a reckless purveyor of sentient lives, a politician—or all three.

“Use it,” Rey said, hoping the flash of _I’m an intimidating person and you should be careful_ she sent at him by Force was received. By the fluttering of his eyelids and the way he adjusted his stance back a bit, she thought it went through.

She was here as Tabri, but Tabri was a Knight of Ren. And the knights didn’t take shit from anyone but other Force users.

The man laughed awkwardly, bowed his head, and left—but something about their short conversation had tipped off the crowd. People began to approach Rey in little groups as she walked around the room. They introduced themselves to her as if she was someone important, as if her knowing them was important.

It was bizarre—but the cover helped her respond as if it was normal. She tried to store up all the new information, the new faces, and then there was a sudden silence in the conversation, while everyone looked over Rey’s shoulder.

Not Ben, because she would have felt Ben approach, so it had to be…

She turned, and saw a redheaded man in full military gear. _Hux_. It had to be.

Yarrow had moved in, a dark and ominous figure among the glittering people. “General Hux, this is Tabri Starvice, the newest of our order. Tabri, this is General Hux.”

Rey inclined her head. “How do you do?” she asked snobbishly, and watched his lip curl.

“Very well. Are you enjoying the collection?” He peered at her like he might see through her skull to her thoughts if he focused hard enough. The group around Rey dispersed nervously, leaving just Rey and Hux and Yarrow.

“I think we both know I’m not here for the collection,” she said.

Hux looked at Yarrow accusingly. “Since when do the knights do recruiting runs?”

There was no trace of the amusingly acerbic Yarrow who’d painted Rey’s face and arms all day as Yarrow replied, “An unknown factor killed the most powerful Force user we’ve known.”

“An unknown factor,” Hux repeated. “Indeed.”

Well, here was someone who didn’t believe the Rey-killed-Snoke theory. Which was fair, because Rey had been useless against Snoke, unless getting hit in the head by her own lightsaber counted, and she suspected it didn’t. She drew herself up as well as she could.

“Has Ren asked for me?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Hux said. It seemed to annoy him, but from Ben’s offhand comments she suspected everything annoyed this man. “If you’ll follow me?”

She set her drink down, and he led the way. For a moment all Rey was thinking about was the hierarchy of the First Order, and how antagonistic the relationship between Ben and Hux was—and then she remembered what she was here for.

She felt that press of the Force on her mind, her body, where before she’d tuned it out. He was so close, almost within her reach. Her skin prickled with it. _Now, now_. They were on the second level, in a curving hallway—guards on either side nodded at Hux—and then they were in another open, glittering space. Rey had a vague impression of people standing about in clumps, doors leading to a balcony, gleaming floor, but she didn’t look at any of it—because this room was set up as a sort of throne room, a humble twin to Snoke’s, and Ben was watching her approach from the seat of honour.

Against all odds, she didn’t stumble when their eyes met. Perhaps she couldn’t have if she’d tried; his attention was a tractor beam keeping her on course, forbidding her from stopping. She watched him take her in, and learned a quick up-and-down glance could be lingering.

They were in the same space. She could have walked up to him and touched him, assuming his guards let her by. Instead she stopped when Hux did, and she knew she was meant to feel like some lowly petitioner—it was how the room was set up, the nature of the beast—but the way Ben watched her was…

Well, for one, it didn’t seem entirely appropriate for their scenario. But for another, it fed his power into her, lent her legitimacy. Her body felt full to bursting with it.

“Supreme Leader,” Hux said. “Your new vassal, I believe.”

Rey had been told to kneel. Not by Ben, but by Yarrow, and on the way here Ceeta had hissed that she better kneel or else. The last thing she wanted was to take a knee, but this was a play, and she was a player, and she began to sink down—

“Up,” Ben said, surprising her into stillness. “Stay up.” She looked at him, and saw him stand up from his chair and descend the dais. She stopped trying to kneel, straightening, and he nodded at her tightly.

His costume change wasn’t as drastic as hers, but it made an impression. Still rigidly martial, but somehow more formal, more obviously well made. A high-necked jacket, a military shoulder cape, the usual black trousers and boots but in better condition. Most of everything was black—but there were hints of colour here and there, in linings and buttons.

Something about his air now reminded her of Leia. Something in the careful wardrobe, which she suspected had been picked by someone else. These clothes had been chosen intentionally to draw a line between Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader, and Leia Organa, princess and former Senator. He couldn’t be the wild card he’d been before; now, his legacy rested in something other than his raw power: his potential as a leader.

He’d said he was bad at it—but he was obviously learning.

“Tabri Starvice,” Yarrow said, as Ben prowled. The ominous figure from the forest was back, carrying threat around him like a second cloak as he circled Rey.

It was an obvious pretence to Rey, who could feel the wash of his energy against hers, the buzzing pulse of proximity. It had to feel like a relief to him the same way it felt to her—like her soul welcomed his, winding around it. That didn’t stop her nerves from lighting up with electricity when he stood behind her in his slow circle.

“How do you find the knights?” Ben asked from over her left shoulder, voice low. She suppressed a shiver.

“Satisfactory,” Rey answered. Her voice sounded childish—like a child pretending—but she persisted: “Thank you for the invitation.”

Why had he stood up? Before, people had watched the introduction from afar, interested but not invested—but now spectators gathered to watch. Had he wanted witnesses?

He had to. This was an act. He was doing whatever suited his master plan—the master plan he’d neglected to share.

“Walk with me,” Ben commanded, and Rey looked at him. Really? In the middle of his party?

He met her eyes for only a moment before turning to Hux. “Stay here. Make a good impression.”

The tightness in Hux’s face got worse—Rey thought she saw a blood vessel burst—but all Hux said was “very well.”

Part one of the pageant was over, clearly. Ben jerked his chin in a motion for Rey to follow, and he walked off. She struggled to keep up, walking like Yarrow had taught her, not bending her shoulders to speed up. Eventually they were back in the night air, on a balcony this time—and the group that had been there before moved away for them. Her breath caught.

They were almost alone, but not quite. Not alone enough. Ben’s importance here conspired with glowing outdoor lights to keep them in the public eye. People wouldn’t hear them over the background noise from here—but they could see.

Rey knew that, psychologically. She didn’t glance around, though, because she couldn’t drag her eyes away from Ben. _Kylo_. Dressed like… a ruler, she supposed, but all Rey could see was the same person she’d seen in the hut, just in different clothes. Fancier clothes that flattered him more, that made it harder to ignore the way he looked at her in turn.

His eyes took in her face, tracked along her bare shoulders, her arms. He stared like they had all the time in the world to stare.

Was this part of the play? Or was this real? The hum of his presence didn’t tell her the answers; the frenzied pitch of the Force between them told her nothing except that Ben was close, _here_ , within reach.

After what felt like an eternity Ben stopped trawling her body with his gaze. He glanced at the people in the doorway watching them, narrowing his eyes. He glanced quickly between Rey and the crowds. What was he looking for?

“They see you,” he said.

She glanced. “I—yes?”

His gaze felt heavy on hers, as imposing as his overwhelming physical presence. “You’re really here.”

Her skin flushed hot. He sounded disbelieving, voice ragged. Her nipples were pulling tight again, and she had to press her thighs together to counter an unwelcome surge of arousal. _He could touch me. Right here. Right now._

“Of course,” she said.

 _I could touch him_.

His head jerked away. He rubbed his face, looking out at the view with—not a scowl. He looked vulnerable; no wonder he sought to hide his expression.

“And where is the resistance?” he asked. He looked up at the night sky. “Is there a long-distance canon waiting to blast me out of existence up there?”

She set her hands on the balcony railing, peering at his face. “Is that really why you think I’m here? To kill you?”

He turned back to her, gravity pooling around him. “No.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She nodded jerkily. No, it wasn’t what he expected—but sometimes the truth was harder to face than dark imaginings. She was here for him, to turn him in a slower way than last time, and perhaps an assassination attempt would be easier to bear than their reality.

Opposites in a war—opposites who didn’t hate each other. She knew what she wanted from him, so what did he want from her? She dropped a hand from the balcony to face him.

He wanted support, she thought. Love. Understanding. In their current state, with him leading an organisation of villains, she couldn’t give it to him. She wondered how he planned to convince her.

“I could reach out and touch you,” he said, getting that hypnotised look again. His eyes kept tracing her arms, her bare shoulders. “No matter whether you wanted me to or not.”

She tipped her chin up in challenge. “You wouldn’t.”

“Touch you?” he asked, not understanding. His voice sounded thick, and even the light out here couldn’t brighten the darkness in his eyes.

“Touch me against my will,” she said.

He swallowed. Looked away.

“Aren’t there too many people here for that, anyway?” she asked, to cut the tension. “We’re meant to be strangers. If you start holding my hand they’ll think something is fishy, and then I’ll be executed eventually. Or something equally hideous. I trust you to smuggle me out before that happens, for the record.”

“Hm,” Ben said.

“‘ _Hm?’_ Hm what? You won’t smuggle me out? No, all right, you meant _hm_ to the strangers thing—are we secretly childhood friends? Is that part of my backstory?”

“Of course not.” He looked at her, impatient with her cheerful babbling. “The information you studied is accurate.”

She let out a breath. Then what was he playing at? Paying special attention to her, making others notice her? How was that going to protect her position in—

She gritted her teeth, and forced herself to finish the thought: _her position in the First Order_? Because now, she’d have one.

What did that position afford her? The other knights weren’t close with Ben; they were underlings. Would she really be able to be close to him like this? He _wanted_ her close. She knew that much. Was it the old adage, _keep your friends close and your enemies closer_? What about enemies you cared too much about? How close were you meant to keep them?

“Will you tell me why you want me here?” she asked hopefully, looking down at her shimmering dress.

“You know why,” Ben said, voice dark and deep like the pull from the cave at Ahch-To. It called to her. “We can build something new together.”

“The First Order doesn’t build new. It just destroys old.”

He still wore gloves, like this. So much of her skin was on display and the only skin he had uncovered was above the high collar of his military jacket. It felt like an extension of their relationship, right now. Once again, _she_ was the one with her life on the line. Wasn’t she?

“The First Order is a tool,” Ben said. Something in his voice drew her gaze up to meet his. “I can use it however I want.”

“Can you?”

In their shared silence—as they stared at each other—there was a hum of distant conversation, outdoor water features splashing, the tinkling of glasses. A high-class backdrop to one of the tensest conversations of Rey’s life.

She only noticed the vulnerability present in his face only when it disappeared. His eyes narrowed; his mouth tightened. “We can,” he said.

“Every moment the First Order exists is a moment lives get ruined. You know that, Ben.”

“Sacrifices are necessary.” He’d put some part of himself away. Now he was all steel, his jaw clenching as he met her gaze.

Her fists balled at her sides. She wanted to argue, to say he had no right to decide what sacrifices other people ought to make—but she became aware of the eyes on them again, and forced her muscles to relax. She was meant to be a sycophant, not a challenger. Tabri Starvice had come here because she liked power and wanted more of it.

Ben noticed the fight leaking out of her, and blinked. He’d been caught up, too, forgetting the pretence.

“Please, Rey,” he said quietly. His eyes pleaded for him—though she wasn’t sure what they pleaded for.

“Tell me how to look at you,” she said, stepping back a bit. It didn’t help; his presence was too strong for a whisper of physical distance to clear her head. “How does my character look at you?”

His head ducked. She watched the clench of his jaw, saw his fist match it. “It would be best if we didn’t argue.”

“I gathered that much myself.”

“We could pretend to be talking about the music, or the art,” he said. She could feel him trying to gather himself, but his jerky motions were reminiscent of an awkward boy, not a glorious leader. It wasn’t how he looked during meetings she spied on through the bond. There, he moved with authority.

The music was indistinct over the general hubbub, even when she tilted her head to catch it. The art… She’d seen some of it, and she didn’t understand it. Some of it pulled and other parts repulsed. She didn’t have an opinion one way or the other, not like the people she’d heard talking inside, who could trace influences on a piece the way others traced constellations in the sky.

“I can’t hear the music,” she said.

“Neither can I,” he said. His glance was—hopeful. Like the night might still end on a positive note; she hoped for the same.

Leia’s advice on battles rose in her mind. The First Order discussion was a battle; Rey’s objective was the war. She could give him some of the stalemate he wanted, just now, and save her fire for later. There was plenty of it.

“I’m glad there’s no dancing,” she said.

“I know.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t be expected to participate.”

“The glorious leader.”

He inclined his head. “I know you don’t believe it.”

She blinked. Believe what? His leadership? She _did_ believe it. That was the problem. She understood what he could undo if he tried; it was impossible to forgive power like he held.

Impossible, and yet…

Her thoughts were interrupted. A brave server was approaching her and Ben, a calm spot among the buzz of their energy clashing. Rey jerked up and away, having gotten closer to Ben in the armistice. She looked at the server, the tray of drinks. She took a tall glass, planning to leave it as well—but first she smelled it. Delicious—like ripe peaches. Rich, sweet fruit. She’d only tasted them in dried form.

“It’s safe to drink,” Ben said, watching her. He’d taken a glass too.

“But is it smart to drink?” she asked. She’d known enough drunks on Jakku to be wary.

Ben sipped, then looked down consideringly. “Most people wouldn’t be affected by just one.”

She gazed down at clear, bubbling liquid suspiciously. It was gently tinted the palest pink. The scent tempted but… could she really? She met Ben’s eyes for a moment, his full of entreaty—and she drank.

It was bubbling and delicious on her tongue, not as sweet as the smell. She took an immediate second sip.

“Good?” he asked, watching closely.

“Tabri must have had this hundreds of times,” she said, trying not to look impressed—but the sensation on her tongue was so pleasant. She inhaled over the glass, eyes closing despite herself.

“You’ve journeyed far,” Ben said. “Let them think what they want to; it doesn’t matter.”

She let out a breath, and slowly—in silence—she drank the rest. It was amazing, just like the bath. Luxury in liquid form. Ben watched her closely. He seemed about to comment when another attendant approached, looking cowed. This one didn’t have a tray.

Rey could see the attendant’s approach; Ben only watched her. Eventually he noticed the direction of her gaze and turned, expression shuttering.

“Yes?” he said.

“General Hux requests—sir—the delegation from Faro is getting impatient—very sorry…”

Rey could feel the grit of teeth in her own skull, though she wasn’t the one clenching her jaw. _Yes, go_ , she thought. Her skin sang with him near, and her body longed for touch, but it was a terrible idea. Even she knew that. No matter how he looked at her.

They’d performed. This interruption was a blessing—a stay of execution. Now, she could escape.

 _Be grateful_ , she thought. She repeated it to herself over and over as his eyes searched hers, his jaw working.

She wanted his gaze on her, his attention. She always seemed to crave it, even when she had no idea what to do with it.

“Tell him I’ll be there soon,” Ben ground out.

The attendant nodded and scuttled off. Rey watched them go, feeling the night air on her skin again. For a while Ben’s presence had turned sensation into a confusing tumult. She focused, now, on all the stimuli that weren’t his signature in the Force. The world still existed with him near; she’d learn that eventually.

“I’ll let you get back to your party,” she said.

“Stay,” he said. “Look around. I’ll join you—”

“I’ll look around for a bit,” she promised. The cultural pearls of civilisations far beyond her knowledge were housed here; she ought to do at least that much. But how could she stand being near him in earshot of others? Pretending to be someone else? “But I think this is enough. We shouldn’t push it.”

He looked about to argue, and she added: “ _I_ don’t want to push it.”

The personal touch made all the difference; she could feel how much he hated her refusal in the flare of the Force. He looked angry, a step from grabbing her and making his opinion known. Let him do it, then, she thought, refusing to cower. He seemed to recognise the challenge in her stance, though, and calmed himself before she could learn to resent him.

“I’ll see you soon regardless,” he said in the cadence of a threat.

“Don’t we always?”

His lips pressed together. Yes, always—but he meant in the flesh. She tried to seem unaffected at the mix of threat and longing. Could he doubt that she wanted it too? Perhaps he could.

With mischief in her heart, she swept a curtsy—the royal kind Yarrow had taught her.

“It’s been a pleasure—” she started, but he caught her hand. _He caught her hand_. He held it in his gloved one, the leather soft and warm. Her breath stopped entirely.

Brown eyes held her captive, the way they often had before, his scar stark over an expression of naked want.

He raised her hand up, bowing over it. Without breaking eye contact he brushed a kiss to her knuckles—a kiss she could feel between her legs, burning there suddenly as if he’d touched his mouth to her folds instead. Her frozen lungs seized into new action, wanting to hyperventilate. She managed as well as she could, wishing she might block out the sensation of his breath on her skin. She felt it _everywhere_.

“Rey,” he said. Breathed. He let her hand fall reluctantly, guiding it down until the moment he had to let go. “Enjoy the rest of the party.”

Woodenly, he inclined his head—and followed the way the attendant had gone. Her part of the masquerade was almost over, and his would carry on deep into the night—but he’d made his point to his organisation, for better or worse. She was someone the Supreme Leader paid special attention to. All the guests would note it; Hux would note it.

She walked back into the throne room, and then out to the main exhibit, Yarrow joining her silently.

She could feel his eyes on her back all the while, until she was out of sight.


	16. Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish you guys could have heard my giddy giggling reading last chapter's comments... or maybe I don't, because you'd think I was some kind of weirdo. The journey continues—I hope you enjoy! Kudos, comments, recs and bookmarks always desired & appreciated!

There was no point in fooling herself about her own feelings, her own immaturity. The fact was that Rey had felt powerful at the party, with Ben acting like she was the most important person in the room. She’d felt beautiful in the dress, with the paints Yarrow so carefully applied turning her face into a work of art. Even the way Yarrow had taught her to walk had made her feel stately rather than ridiculous, after a while.

All that power left her when she returned to her room and found she couldn’t undo the ties at the back of her neck. They were stuck, the knot tiny in its tightness, and her fingernails started to hurt with picking at it.

 _No. No. No._ This wasn’t how she wanted the night to end. She wanted to end it feeling powerful and seductive, like she’d just fired the opening salvo and could rest for a bit—not anticipating Yarrow finding her in the morning, sleeping in this ridiculous dress because the knot wouldn’t come out and there were no sharp things in the room.

She tried to open the door to the hallway, wondering if she could ask for help, but of course it was locked. She was trapped in a dress, in a room, on a planet. It felt ridiculous.

After another try at the silken cords—her fingers began to hurt worse—she sat down on the bed and sighed, waiting for the blood to return to her exhausted arms. How could something grand like that party and seeing Ben again happen on the same night as something this stupid? Their reunion had felt destined, tense, painful—and now…

Now she was an idiot girl who couldn’t get out of a fancy dress. She was going to have to sleep in it.

She kicked at the shoes she’d taken off earlier; it hurt her toe. Of course _._

“This is what you get,” she told herself. She wasn’t sure _why_ it was what you got, but she felt like she needed a good scolding. “This is what happens when your head is stuck in the clouds.”

Suddenly, her hand remembered Ben’s mouth across its knuckles. The hairs on her arms rose, her muscles pulling tight. She swallowed despite a suddenly-dry mouth.

There was heat between her legs again—heat that begged for release.

Maybe she deserved the punishment of a constricting dress. And she definitely shouldn’t think of kneeling on the bed with these elaborate skirts fanned around her, reaching beneath them to satisfy her needs while trapped in this symbol of Ben’s power—

She groaned with a mix of rage and exasperation. _Come on, Rey!_ She was like some animal in heat. She got up and paced, bunching the elegant material in her hands like Yarrow had told her not to. She just needed to accept the situation. There was nothing she could do on her own, and there was no way to ask for help, so—

Sudden inspiration stopped her pacing, her knees going weak at the thought of following through. There was no way to ask for help, except to think of Ben, and maybe, if she was lucky, the bond would activate.

And she could ask him to untie her dress.

Shivers ran up and down her bare back. She hugged herself tightly, pacing again, trying to ignore growing heat. He would still be playing lord and master back at the party. He wouldn’t be thinking of her, and even if she managed to summon him he wouldn’t be able to get time alone to help a Force ghost out of a dress.

Now she’d had the thought, though, it wouldn’t go away. Her skin ached for touch, and her mind ached for the ties to be off. She wasn’t sure she could sleep knowing she was stuck in something. It was better to try and fail than not to try, wasn’t it?

Danger whispered at the back of her mind. Worse danger than a sleepless night—but she found herself longing for it.

She allowed herself to reach. It wasn’t hard here; she knew exactly what direction to reach in, and almost exactly how far. There were no stars between them tonight, and though the bond seemed to laugh in the face of distance this lack of it seemed to make everything even easier. Very soon, Ben was with her in the dimly lit hotel room. He stared at her much as he had earlier.

For his sake, she hoped there was something at the party for him to stare at that way.

“I need help,” she said, and it came out like an accusation. Well—he’d picked the dress, or his people had. Even if she was the one who’d tightened the knot until it was impossible to undo, it was at least somewhat his fault.

“Are you in danger?” he muttered, so quietly she could barely hear. She shook her head, and he nodded infinitesimally.

It was a silent _I’ll get to you later_. For the time being she sat down on the bed and tried to fight down claustrophobia. Ben would be able to undo the knot, or cut the ties. There was no need for her skin to itch.

_Calm, calm._

Eventually Ben moved, walking out the window in her vision, and she let the distance fall back between them until he reappeared more or less where he’d been. He was slightly breathless, like he’d run up a flight of stairs.

“What is it?” he asked. She watched his hands flex before settling back into relaxed fists at his sides.

“I can’t undo my dress,” Rey said, wanting to get it over with. She stood, and held up the flowing cords that fell down her back for him. She shook them for good measure. “I tied the knot too tight, and now I can’t get it undone, and I can’t get out of my room to ask for help.”

For a long moment he just stared. She’d kept a no-nonsense tone, hoping to forestall any amusement on his end, and that seemed to have worked—but there wasn’t anything _else_ either. It seemed as if the person behind those dark eyes had just… stalled.

“You need me to undo it,” he echoed eventually.

“Yes.”

He breathed out very slowly. “Turn.”

For a moment she watched him begin to tug at the fingers of his gloves, preparing to take them off—and then she turned, offering her exposed back to him. It made her feel vulnerable, her shoulders rising as he approached, but she didn’t feel unsafe. For a moment he just stood there looming.

Saliva flooded her mouth; she swallowed it down.

Finally Ben bent over the knot, his hands coming up. He made an obvious effort not to touch her skin as he felt things out, but it was impossible to avoid contact entirely. Shivers raced across her exposed back, and the hairs on her arms stood up. Her cheeks prickled.

Still Ben said nothing. She closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing—and, unwillingly, on the lightning bolts of contact, the barely-there brushes of his fingertips and knuckles against the skin of her neck and shoulders as he tugged at different parts of the knot.

Her stomach was filled with butterflies. “It’s fine if you have to cut it,” she said breathily, head bent low.

“I don’t think I’ll have to,” he said. His voice came from so close—such an intimate sound—that it made her eyes open in shock. She blinked as she saw a room that wasn’t her own—some empty sitting area, done up in the same lavish style as the exhibit space but with a much more intimate atmosphere.

“Where are we?” she asked, glad for the distraction.

His fingertips touched her skin briefly as he jerked up, alert to the surroundings. “Ah. Upstairs from earlier. Private room.”

“Did you mean to share?”

“No,” he said, voice thick. “You can extract yourself, if you want.”

She didn’t want to _extract herself_ , whatever that meant, but she was curious whether she could go back to her hotel room while he pulled her in an opposite direction. She tried to think of her body, her physical location when the bond activated—and here they were again, by the bed in her room.

“Did I take you with me?” she asked, curious.

“Yes.”

She ducked her head triumphantly, and tried to hold onto the technicalities to keep her breathing steady. The bond was stronger with them so geographically near; that made sense. Whoever concentrated harder got to share their location, not entirely willingly, and—

Ben’s fingers brushed her skin, and no amount of thinking about their bond could cool the heat that spread down her front, prickling her skin and pooling between her legs. She felt herself tremble with it.

“Almost,” Ben said. There was a jerk against her collar. She swallowed again, but they weren’t there yet. She felt every move he made, could even sense his posture behind her. She could sense the shape of his _thoughts_ …

The knot gave at last, and she gasped with relief. Behind her she sensed Ben… she sensed him…

He didn’t actually do it. This was a thought, a fantasy of his, and she was eavesdropping on it—but very clearly she saw him lean forward in his mind, brushing a kiss against her bare shoulder. It wasn’t real, but she _felt_ his mouth against her skin, soft warmth with the barest hint of wet, and her knees buckled. Her stomach was a riot of fire and flight, her heart a furious drum.

Very, very slowly, she turned. In his mind, he’d kissed her. But the fact that she’d intercepted the fantasy didn’t make it real. Still all her senses were overloaded with false memory as she stared up at him.

The dress was no longer an itch against her skin now the ties were undone. The bodice was looser, and would gap if she moved too much, but held its own shape without help as long as she stood upright. There was tightness from the fastening at her lower back keeping everything in place, and she was very aware of her bare legs beneath the dress, the cool fabric of the skirts against them, the way the layers of fabric pooled at her feet now with the high shoes off.

For his part, Ben was motionless. No—not quite motionless. She could see him swallow, see his eyelids flutter. He took in her whole face, gaze dropping to her mouth with some regularity. She knew the feeling.

It couldn’t hurt, to kiss him. She was here; why shouldn’t she get some kind of reward for the risks she’d taken to get here? A kiss didn’t mean they were on the same side. It was a risk of a different sort, a way to feel more vulnerable, to feel ridiculous if she was rejected—but on a scale of other risks she’d taken, it didn’t rank highly.

And she wanted.

She touched her fingers to her shoulder, to the burning patch of skin he’d imagined kissing. His eyes followed the motion, mouth working when he realised his thoughts had betrayed him—betrayed the impulse to kiss there. His gaze dragged up to meet hers.

There was no challenge in his eyes; there was just a wordless look that reflected her own desires back at her. It gave her the strength to reach out and set a hand on his chest. His breath gusted out at the contact.

“Rey,” he said.

 _Ben_ , she thought. Her mouth formed the name, but she didn’t speak it. She flattened the hand on his chest, felt how solid he was beneath her palm. His heart drummed beneath, the pace of it a match for hers.

Her eyes flicked up to his.

 _Please_ , he thought, an echo of a former plea, and how he stood there wanting and not taking set her over the edge; impulsive need won out. She rose up on her toes, steadying herself on his shoulders, and brushed a kiss against his mouth.

 _Soft._ Just as it had been in the mind-picture. She wanted more instantly. No, not more: all. All of him. She sucked in a breath, unsure of how to continue. She was no seductress, and she’d never kissed anyone before. She hadn’t even paid attention to the theory; she just knew she wanted to feel his tongue against hers. Which made no sense, because before now the prospect of swapping spit with anyone had seemed utterly disgusting.

What had changed?

 _I did_ , she thought. The thing inside of her calling out had found an echo of itself, had latched on. That part was pure animal longing, or pure Force, or pure _something_ —but it wasn’t all. There was more to it, all rolled into one. Ben’s quiet voice in the nights, the way he looked at her. It lit her on fire from the inside, made it so she couldn’t think straight. Made it so she wanted things she’d never wanted before—like to feel hands pulling her close, a mouth opening against hers.

A sweet ache between her legs and across her skin sapped her strength, embarrassed her beyond measure.

One of his hands came up to keep her near, a blazing warmth at the curve of her waist. She gasped at the contact—at his fingers brushing bare skin not used to being bare. She fisted her hands in the fabric of his jacket at the shoulders to keep herself upright through the shivers that followed.

She leaned up again, kissed him again. Their mouths opened just slightly; she felt wetness, and then nothing. She wondered if she’d remember the taste of him forever as she pulled back.

“Rey,” he said, even softer this time. She couldn’t tell the pulse of his desire from her own. His eyes searched hers.

She didn’t know what he searched for.

“It’s just for now,” she breathed. “That’s—okay, isn’t it? This is okay?”

“Join me, Rey,” he said. Which wasn’t an answer to her question.

“I already have,” she said. What more could he want? No, she had the answer to that; a better question was _what more could he want that she could reasonably give without compromising herself_? Dark versus light wasn’t her fight. But the resistance—the crippling of the First Order that committed atrocities— _that_ was.

It wasn’t enough for Ben. “I could give you anything,” he said, a hand coming up to cradle the side of her face.

She swallowed.

“Everything,” he amended. “I’ll give you everything.”

It was hard to think through the flush of desire. Some buried scavenger part of herself told her to accept now and decide if she liked the deal later. She wished she could manage that deception, but something in her cried against out against it.

“Everything but what I want,” she said softly.

“What do you want?” Ben asked, his desperation like a hum against her in the Force.

“No slaves. No funding the kind of people who go to Canto Bight. No destroying what can’t be conquered—”

“Canto Bight?” he asked, confused by the specific callout. Well, he hadn’t heard the way Finn spoke about it.

“Luxury that comes from other people’s misery,” Rey explained. “No—no people like my parents, selling their children.”

His grip tightened. “That’s why you care?”

Her jaw set, despite the waves of compassion rolling off him now. Her pain always seemed to soften him. “Not just that,” she said.

“Why, then?”

“Because it’s not right.” She stared into his eyes. “We should be fighting to make everything right, Ben. The two of us.”

She felt the shiver go through him. It had been the right thing to say, the argument averted.

She kept her eyes wide, hoping he’d read her hope in them. “Not just the Force. Not light and dark in balance—but everything. Justice. Fairness. Giving people a chance to be more than what they’re born into.”

He stared down at her. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”

“You said you’d give me everything.”

“I don’t even know how—” he started, then cut himself off. “Rey… What you’re dreaming of isn’t possible. It sounds nice, but it’s impossible to achieve.”

“Give me some hope you’ll consider it,” she said. “Please, Ben.”

“None of that is important,” Ben said breathlessly, expression hardening. “It won’t matter. With the Force in balance everything will be different. Individual lives are just a distraction.”

How could he promise her _anything, everything_ but refuse point blank at any hint of a compromise? She glared up at him.

“I’ll show you,” he said. “If you’ll let me. With time.”

“The First Order is evil.”

“A necessary one, for now.”

When would it stop being necessary? She could see their future plain as day: a concession on her side each week, each day, each hour, and a slow crawl into a dark future together, the First Order remaining useful and therefore in existence. People didn’t just give up power once it was acquired, and Ben wouldn’t give up the First Order. He needed it.

His insecurity wouldn’t allow him to dismantle the thing that made his dreams possible, the thing he’d sacrificed so much for.

 _Sacrificed his own father for_.

Misery dulled some of the heat she felt. She let her forehead thud into his shoulder, wishing against reason that he was really here in her room instead of visiting by Force bond. Why did she want him near when being with him and unable to get through to him always tore her apart?

Masochism—or faith in herself. That she’d be the one to prevail against him. That her vision of him on Ahch-To could be accomplished, somehow.

His hand settled on her pinned-up hair, very careful.

“We’ll never agree,” she said into his chest.

“We will.” He sounded certain. She sensed the _I’ll make you see_ behind it.

She stepped back but not out of his embrace, meeting his eyes. _Not if I make_ you _see first_ , she thought. Her hands slid up to the base of his neck. She raised one to brush at his hair, finding his ear beneath it and tracing it softly. It was odd to find a part of him that wasn’t hard and muscled, and his eyelids fluttered at the contact.

“I hope you’re right,” she said. She expected something from him, some grand proclamation, but he was too busy looking at her. Their stare held for too long, the silence lengthening, and it felt as if they teetered on the edge of something. She could kiss him again, if she wanted. Maybe do more than kiss him.

Embarrassment and inexperience made her step back, their hands dropping. She might know how sex was supposed to go, but knowing it and being ready to plunge into that awkward territory with someone who might use weakness against her were two different things. She swallowed hard.

“Thank you for your help,” she said, head ducked. Her gaze fell on his bare hand—a bare hand that could be touching her bare skin, if she’d just gather the courage.

 _Not a good idea_ , she told herself, unsure if it was sense or cowardice speaking. Only one of those could be overcome, though, and she stepped back again to sit on the bed, careful to keep the dress up.

“You have a party to get back to,” she said, finally meeting his eyes again. He swallowed and looked away.

“Yes.”

“Hux will be in any minute,” she added.

“It’ll be different once we’re on the ship,” he said, in the cadence of a promise. “I have things to show you. Things you should do.”

“Things I should do?” Rey asked, confused.

A tiny smile appeared. “I think you’ll like it, once you… well.”

She tried to read it in his mind, curiosity getting the better of her, but a wall slammed up. It was unusual for there to be any walls between them, and she blinked her eyes in silent question.

“I want it to be a surprise,” Ben explained. He looked around the room—at her—with some intensity, then put his gloves back on. As if he willed it, he disappeared. With them so near the bond was less volatile, it seemed, which could be good or bad depending on what was going on; it was the first time they’d ever purposefully left each other during a session.

For now she tried to be relieved. She could take off the dress, wash her face and hair, slip into bed… and scream into her pillow for a few hours. Perhaps it would help her process the night she’d just had.

Then again, perhaps it wouldn’t. She had a feeling nothing could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to send me a writing prompt—or ask anything—please send an ask to reyloments.tumblr.com! (Although of course you can always ask things in comments.) Thanks for reading~


	17. Resonance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the two week break between updates! I was busy and trying to work ahead c: I'll have another for you next week for sure! If you find any typos please let me know. Thank you as always for your kind comments!

After all the waiting, it was odd to have life speed up again. With the exhibition over, Rey was free to join the knights on one of the First Order battleships. _Free_ meaning that she was required to join them, and Yarrow hurried her into some clothes and out of her room the next morning—after a brief makeup session that left Rey’s face somewhat changed, though not as drastically as it had been last night.

A succession of road pods and shuttles and sterile hallways later, Rey stood in front of her new room within a First Order battleship.

A room—her own room.

On a First Order ship.

The unit was near the knights’ sparring room, and near the periodically vacant rooms of other knights—and near Ceeta’s regrettably un-vacant room. Ceeta had joined them again outside the hotel, and the air around her felt sharp with anger.

Rey hadn’t kneeled before Ben’s throne last night. Was that it?

“Does the door lock?” Rey asked as she preceded Yarrow into the cabin that would be hers. It seemed a relevant question given Ceeta’s moods.

“I’d put a trip-wire up just in case,” Yarrow said, “unless you’re going to sleep in another vent.”

Rey’s back and shoulders remembered the vent she’d slept in on the knights’ ship without fondness—but she felt an emotional attachment to the cramped space where she’d felt almost safe. _A trip-wire…_ she wondered. It wasn’t a bad idea.

“I’ll take that as a no,” she said.

“It locks, but if one of us wanted in we could get in. So all you’re protected from is random Stormtroopers storming in here.” Yarrow raised an eyebrow. “Get it?”

Rey was taking in the room still, and didn’t respond. There was a bathroom with a water shower in addition to the sonic shower off to the side, and the bed was spacious. A desk with a stool, a comfortable chair—but no personal effects. Her trunk would be brought later, devoid of any of the things she’d packed when she left the resistance. Even her staff had been taken from her.

_Too risky_ , Ben and the knights had said. Her arguments that no one had seen the staff had fallen on deaf ears; Tabri wouldn’t carry a scrappy homemade weapon like that around and they all knew it.

Rey hated being separated from it, useless as it was against a lightsaber.

“Fine, don’t respond,” Yarrow said.

“Does Kylo have a room on this ship?” Rey asked. She couldn’t help herself—couldn’t help the excitement she felt, the pleasant twist in her stomach. She wanted his proximity.

“Of course. He trains with us at times. His room is up the next stairwell and down a bit.” Yarrow’s gaze turned measuring. “I’m sure you’ll find out exactly where soon enough.”

Rey gave her a look. She’d been leaning down to feel the fabric of the sheets and the squish of the mattress—soft and soft—but now she straightened, saying nothing.

“I saw the way he looked at you,” Yarrow added. Her eyes were searching. Could Rey trust her? Or was her true allegiance to Ceeta? She’d seemed like a lackey of Ceeta’s at first; this could all be a trick. Yarrow went on: “Not just that. I could feel something between you. A hum.”

Rey pursed her lips together.

Yarrow folded her arms. “What? It’s true. Are you going to deny it?”

“What does it matter to you?” Rey asked.

“It’s interesting,” Yarrow said. “I haven’t really felt something like that before. The closest thing I know is crystal bonding, how a lightsaber and a Jedi knight will have this… resonance.”

_Resonance_. It was a new word for something Rey had felt for a long time now. The connection between her and Ben—it could be called that. “It’s true,” she said.

Yarrow nodded, gratified, and made for the door.

“Wait!” Rey said. “Where are you—what am I supposed to do? Am I a prisoner?”

“I think Ren will come for you soon. You could use the sparring room to train, or to meditate. Practice forms. That desk probably has a standard reader in the drawer; you could download a few books from the ship’s main computer.”

“I can explore the ship?” she asked.

Yarrow folded her arms. “Better to stay on this level if you don’t want to risk exposing yourself. Or making us think you’re trying to escape, or that you’re contacting the resistance.”

Rey’s breath gusted out. “Noted,” she said. “What will you do?”

“Escort mission,” Yarrow said. “I’ll be gone for a while. Don’t miss me too much, and remember the makeup tricks I taught you.”

Sudden panic seized Rey. She almost asked whether Ceeta couldn’t be the one to go, almost made an official request—then reined herself in. It was better not to speak of that specific fear when Yarrow and Ceeta might be working together. Her jaw set, and she nodded.

“I’ll try not to waste away without you,” she said, and tried to make it sound humorous. She wasn’t sure if she succeeded; she was on a First Order battleship as her persona for the first time, and she was already one maybe-ally down.  

Not a promising start, all told.

 

* * *

 

Rey felt it the moment Ben arrived on the ship, but she tried not to let on. She was in the sparring room, half-heartedly practicing swings of a practice sword on an innocent dummy. Half an hour ago Ceeta had joined her there, lightsaber out, and Rey had wondered briefly if she’d be killed then and there—but Ceeta had ignored her and moved on to do her own solitary practices, the air around her still brittle.

Ben’s presence on the ship was a relief, despite the tension between them last night; he was an assurance of safety. Rey wasn’t sure how well she could defend herself with a wooden stick if Ceeta came at her with the lightsaber, and she’d be happy to retreat from the practice room as long as she could look like she wasn’t retreating.

Assuming Ben joined her at all—but it was an assumption that proved correct. There were very few detours as he made his way through the ship, his hum in the Force telling her where he was at all times. There was violence in that hum, but it wasn’t just that; it wasn’t all dark need and anger. There was curiosity, resolve, even vulnerability—though it was hard to sense it beneath the more surface-level darkness. She wondered what she felt like to him.

“Distracted?” Ceeta asked nastily from across the room. Rey realised she’d been standing with her practice blade slack in her hand, staring into the middle distance as she tracked Ben’s progress mentally. She drew herself up.

“I thought you were ignoring me,” she said, unable to match the venom.

“It’s what we all ought to do,” Ceeta said. “But who asked me?”

“You can tell your leader that when he gets here,” Rey said. Ceeta hissed—and, to Rey’s amazement, stormed off.

She was definitely going to murder Rey in her sleep one day.

Whatever dark future Ceeta’s exit predicted, though, it was convenient for Rey’s purposes. When Ben swept into the training room, he found her alone.

The world dropped away as their eyes met, Rey’s stomach swooping at the fall. For a moment she thought he’d continue striding forward and pick her up, like a war hero returning home—and then he stopped short, breathing heavily. Of course; he was no hero. With his ceremonial garb from yesterday gone, he was back to ragged dark looks that rendered him a villain.

She caught her breath first, leaning on her practice sword like it was a cane. “We meet again.”

He glanced at the door. “No one can hear us.”

“Will you tell me about the surprise, then?”

“I’d rather show you. Will you join me?”

She shifted. “Join you where?”

A small smile appeared. “A ship.”

Her mind spun. Was he giving her a ship? No, she was still considered a flight risk. What else, then? His tentative smugness made her nervous. What if his people had captured the Falcon, and this was the moment before he revealed her worst nightmares were about to come true and this had all been part of a ruse to snuff out the last of the resistance—

“Stop,” he said. “Just follow.”

She ducked her head and did as he said. In the hallways no one looked at them, and there was an odd hum in the Force. It took her an embarrassingly long time to realise Ben was deflecting the attention of passersby, making their eyes skim over him and Rey as they made their way to this mysterious ship. To her relief the vessel he led her to in the ship’s hangar wasn’t the Falcon or any ship she knew—just a mid-size shuttle, in typical dark colours.

Was the surprise on the ship? She followed him up the ladder, still oddly unobserved by people at large. She tried to get a look at his face once they were inside and failed, always a step behind.

“Are we going somewhere?”

He looked at her finally—just a second before he walked up to a control panel. He sat in the pilot’s chair and indicated the co-pilot’s one; there wasn’t much space to stand around.

“Yes,” he said.

“Hyperspace?” There had to be a reason he hadn’t chosen a TIE fighter. Unless the reason was that they wouldn’t _fit_ …

“There will be a jump, yes.” He checked a clock. “We have a minute to wait.”

“A minute?”

“I’m sending out decoy ships at the same time. They’re not all in position.”

She stared at his face—at the half of it she could see. “You need decoys?”

Their eyes caught for just a moment before he turned back to the controls. “A precaution.”

There was a long silence—but not quite minute-long.

“It’s unlikely Hux will mutiny,” Ben offered quietly, without prompting. “The knights aren’t loyal to him, and my lineage helps our cause. But an accident would be convenient.”

_My lineage_. So he really was putting it about that he was Leia Organa’s son—and Darth Vader’s grandson. A blend of Empire and Republic, to set any moderate’s mind at ease—and any extremist’s. They’d all think he was their Fathier in the race, convinced he’d come through for them in the end. Tactically it made sense, but it was hard to take from the person who’d told her to let the past die.

_Let the past die, except where it’s convenient_ , she corrected him mentally. She had no past anyone would put stock in; she didn’t need to be told to let it go. Did he realise his hypocrisies, or did his mind find ways around them?

He’d been preoccupied readying the ship for flight, but he caught the end of her long stare. He twitched under it, looking back towards the controls.

“What is it?” he asked. “I won’t put you in danger, if that’s—”

“Don’t be stupid,” Rey interrupted. “I’m not worried about that.”

She was worried about Ceeta down the hall from her—but that was tonight’s problem.

He glanced at her again, but the time to talk was over for now. There was a voice on the comlink, and then the controls claimed his attention as he input launch sequences, seemingly pre-approved by hangar control. The ship began to hover, motions smooth, and Ben maneuvered it out the hangar with the precision of a master.

If Ben Solo hadn’t fallen to the dark side, Rey thought, Poe might have competition for his title: _best pilot in the resistance_. She tried not to imagine that version of the world too hard, scared of longing for it too much; this scarred, damaged Ben was the one she had. She couldn’t think of a Ben more like Han and Leia—one who smiled readily, who flew like he was born to fly and used his vast power to help people like her.

Her heart ached just a little—though perhaps that was better than becoming distracted by the way Ben’s hands moved on the controls. She swallowed.

“Will you tell me now?” she asked.

“Hold on.”

A long silence—there was a rattle of machinery, a stretch of stars up ahead—and then they were in hyperspace. He leaned back in the pilot’s chair. While he was operating the ship she’d kept an eye on what controls he touched—but now she looked up at him.

“What do you know about lightsabers?” he asked, looking at her the intent way he had when she fought Ceeta, or at the party—like she held the whole galaxy in her hands.

“I…” She thought of the Jedi texts, the ones she hadn’t told him about. She knew a little about archaic ways of lightsaber crafting, only half understood, and Luke had mentioned a thing or two. “Not much,” she admitted.

He nodded. “The crystals at the heart of them—they’re special.”

“Red means dark side,” Rey said. To her surprise, a corner of his mouth pulled up.

“It’s a different kind of mastery. A Sith demands submission from the crystal he uses. It’s dominion, not a bond.”

She thought of his lightsaber, how it hadn’t felt all that different from Luke’s. It had served her fine. Because it was broken? Would it accept any master?

“A Jedi’s crystal is different. There’s a bond, a partnership.”

“Resonance,” Rey said, quoting Yarrow.

Ben nodded, eyes lighting up in a small way that pierced her. “Exactly.”

Why was he telling her this? He hated the Jedi, absolutely despised the order for their crimes, despised Luke. She watched him carefully, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Jedi find their crystals. They have to find the right one, one that calls to them. There are a few places where kyber crystals grow.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s where we’re going?”

“The weapon I commissioned for you is nothing without the crystal. That part couldn’t be done by someone else, so you have to do it yourself.”

He watched her with something like anticipation, his face more mobile than she’d seen it. Not pained, not stressed. He knew what he was giving her, and he was glorying in it.

She wanted to crawl into his lap, kiss him like some stupid overexcited girl. Her own lightsaber—her own _crystal_ —

“I thought you hated the Jedi,” she said. “Why are you helping me be one?”

His chin jerked up. “Technology is technology. The mythology doesn’t matter. It doesn’t have to belong to the Jedi.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Why not have me do the Sith thing, then?”

“I don’t want you to,” he said, and turned back to the controls. That was all—nothing more. She looked down at the lightsaber clipped to his belt.

“Can I use it?” she asked. “To see if it feels different?”

He glanced at her, even as he prepared for the judder back into normal space—then down at his weapon. Somehow he looked embarrassed to be asked.

“I won’t try to kill you,” she promised.

His fleeting smile was her reward. He reached and unclipped the lightsaber, handing it over without looking, without saying anything. His embarrassment infected her; the weight of his lightsaber in her hand was suddenly an intimate thing—the weight of his trust, or something.

The _or something_ was right. She tried to calm her racing heart, standing.

“Don’t light it yet,” Ben said. “Three, two, one…”

The ship shuddered—she grabbed the back of his chair—and they were back in normal space.

“Go ahead,” he said, not looking.

There was only just enough space for this on the ship for this, but she didn’t want to wait until later. She lit the lightsaber and felt its hum in her palm. Instead of trying to do anything, she focused on the feel of it. Was there a connection between her and the weapon? She didn’t feel anything particularly strong, not like the call from Luke’s old lightsaber. She concentrated harder, and felt there was a kind of pain to the hum of the saber’s power, a raw edge like an infected wound. Was she imagining it?

“You’re not bonded to this crystal?” she asked.

“I used to be,” Ben said, his voice odd, and if she hadn’t been holding a dangerous weapon she might have turned to see his expression. _I used to be?_

“But it still works?”

“I converted it,” he said. She sensed something he wasn’t telling her, or wasn’t putting words to—sensed pain that mirrored the wild pain in the saber. She didn’t understand it, though, and turned the lightsaber off.

She sat back down and handed him back the weapon. They were above a planet with a lot of white-capped mountains, reaching almost to the equator. Some oceans, though less than many of the planets and moons she’d seen. The atmosphere hissed against the ship’s shields as they descended.

There was an odd tension in the air between her and Ben. From the lightsaber thing? Or just the quiet space? With him back in the clothes from before he felt more like the Ben she knew, maybe, and that was cause enough for awkwardness. It recalled their Force Bond on Ahch-To, the brief moments when anything seemed possible between them. When she’d thought they belonged together.

She suppressed a shiver and focused on his flying, enjoying the quiet studious air he had. They landed in a snowy valley ringed by hills, the ship’s exhausts sizzling snow briefly until everything steadied. Ben stood, but not for long. He knelt beside a box, took out cloaks for both of them.

“It might be long,” Ben said when she took the cloak he handed her. She draped it around herself; it _was_ too long for her, but it was warm.

It was his. She secured it in place, ducked her head and caught a whiff of his scent.

_I’m not being creepy_ , she tried to tell herself. Smelling was just breathing with her nose. She inhaled again; this time she didn’t catch the scent, and she resisted the desire to hold the fabric up and huff it, see if she’d imagined the first whiff. Ben was standing, wrapping the other cloak around himself. There was no gangplank, here; there was a door, and a ladder, and then she was standing ankle deep in snow. The quality of the light suggested it was evening, with sunset nearing—meaning it would only get colder.

The warm cloak had seemed plenty thick on the ship. Out here, it seemed like it might not be enough, and she was grateful for her boots.

Ben motioned for her to follow, and set off towards the nearest hill. She tried to keep up. In time she identified a dark splotch they seemed to be walking towards—a cave, set in a spot where low-angled sunlight made its surroundings glitter gold.

Snow crunched beneath her boots, and she felt oddly buoyant. She was out here, with Ben. Like they were just themselves out on an adventure, the same way he’d showed her that city in a hollowed-out mountain. It made her imagine—

_Stop_ , she thought. She’d fantasised about returning to the resistance together before, when she’d gone to turn him. It had been an unknowing child’s fantasy; she’d imagined a different Ben, then.

She craved so many versions of him, and she kept having to try and forget them. It was a shame she craved the real him too—the one that wouldn’t turn.

_Yet_ , she told herself, but didn’t put too much stock in it. That wasn’t what she was here for; joining him was just good business. She was keeping an eye on him, protecting the resistance—and if she did some good at his side, well, that was a bonus.

She jogged to catch up, and began to walk ahead. Her hands were free, her staff gone, and she missed it now as they neared the mysterious cave.

“There could be creatures in there,” Ben warned, just as she had the same thought.

“You can throw me your lightsaber,” she said, not slowing. They’d fought plenty well in the throne room; she couldn’t imagine them doing worse against some cave monster. She kept this in mind as the golden light gave way to utter darkness in the cave’s entrance—and stopped to let her eyes adjust. Before the only scent had been the cold, but now there was a dank earthy smell too. She inhaled deeply.

Ben stopped a pace behind her, her back tingling with his proximity, and she continued on through the darkness. If she concentrated like she had on the flat stone on Ahch-To, she could sense the dimensions of the cave and the energy patterns inside instead of seeing things with her eyes. Actually, the dark helped.

“Well done,” Ben said softly, and she jumped. She thought she felt the flare of his amusement—but it could have been her imagination. She plodded on, weaponless, and after a while of ducking through tunnels at random she sensed something powerful up ahead.

Not cave monster powerful, but song-in-the-Force powerful. Her steps got faster at risk of her ankles.

“Keep up,” she told Ben, giddy that her smaller stature was better suited to these underground tubes. These weren’t the ruins of a starship—they were the innards of something much larger—but she could navigate them just as easily as she had them, for all that the cloak swept the dusty stone behind her.

Ben remained quiet, and at the next opening she began to see ghostly light up ahead. It got brighter and brighter, beckoning alongside the call. The next passage was different, wider, reminiscent of the place where the Jedi texts had been stored on Ahch-To. A cage of stone instead of wood, but a cage all the same.

Set into the walls were matrices of crystal, shining brightly, more stunning than even the general’s jewellery collection. No starship had ever held a treasure like this. There was an ache in her heart, a call with a whispered answer—and for once, the answer wasn’t coming from Ben.

It was coming from one of these crystals.

It was supposed to, she realised. These were the things at the heart of lightsabers, the things that allowed Jedi to channel the Force physically. One of them was singing to her, and she approached with uncharacteristic shyness.

_Is it really me you want?_ she wondered, and felt its answer as a hum in the Force. It was clear which one it was now, at this distance, her eyes watery with the brightness after so much dark.

She raised a hand to touch the crystal that called to her, her heart in her throat—then lowered the hand before it could make contact, bowing her head over it. Was this what she was meant to do?

“What?” Ben asked, with a voice like _he_ was the one balanced over a precipice.

“I thought…” she started, then stopped. She hadn’t told him this; it had been a secret, the same way the texts were. She didn’t know how to discuss the war between their sides with him, the arsenal she was trying to help rebuild. Likely she wasn’t meant to discuss it.

She looked at him, and let go of this tiny bit of caution. “The broken lightsaber—the crystal—I thought it could be repaired.”

Ben’s jaw clenched, the ghostly light of the crystals throwing strange shadows across his face.

“I’m good at fixing things,” she said. It was a point of pride. Starting new…

“It’s calling to you,” he said, indicating the crystal that sang. “I can feel it too.”

Through the bond? She looked at the crystal. There was a pleasant call in her, too, telling her to touch. It was hers, or it would be. It had the potential to be hers. But playing into Ben’s scheme, letting the past die—that wasn’t her. There was no past she was trying to kill.

She was trying to mend it.

For a moment she thought she’d step away. She’d ignore the call and make her point—and then her survival instincts kicked in.

The broken crystal was no good to her just now. She was in enemy territory, weaponless, and Ben was offering her a way to fight; his eyes begged her to accept.

That was why she doubted, because he wanted her to do this—but just because he wanted it too didn’t mean it was a concession on her end. The crystal could be repaired later; there was no rule that she couldn’t accept this boon and still claim the rest later. She reached again for the crystal that wanted her back, feeling that call—the belonging.

_You and me_ , she thought, her longest finger making the briefest contact—and the crystal dropped away from the stone. She gasped, diving to catch it. It bounced in her hands before she got a good grip on it, and when she _did_ grip it she held it tightly. Her heart hammered.

“You could have warned me that would happen,” she said, looking over at Ben.

“I didn’t know,” he said. “How does it feel?”

There was an odd blue light beginning to shine—and Rey gasped as she looked down at the crystal in her hand. It had changed colour, and was starting to dim. Was she meant to feed it? She connected to it, tried to infuse it with some of the energy around, and the matrix set in the wall flickered—her crystal glowed bright blue—

“Let it fade,” Ben said quickly. “That’s normal.”

“I don’t have to keep it alive?” Rey said, not doing as he said.

“It’s not a pet. It’s fine.”

She let go of the Force, and the light in the underground room steadied again. Ben watched her wordlessly, the mind behind those dark eyes opaque to her—but clearly focused on her.

“What do we do now?” she asked, looking from him to the crystal in her hands.

“We go back.”

“This is what we came here for? Just for me?”

“It was important,” he said, and turned. This time he led the way, and after a moment she followed. She could feel how much he’d wanted to give her this, but now with the gift given he was… awkward. And she couldn’t help but absorb that awkwardness.

It felt like a courtship, and any courtship between them was doomed. A nothing-kiss in a hotel room was one thing, fantasising was one thing—but it couldn’t possibly become something real, something solid. His offer in the throne room had proved they weren’t in a fairy tale; no worthwhile partner would offer power in return for the lives of her friends, and she’d responded in the only way she could.

So why did they still want each other?

She shook the frustration off and continued on, surprised when a gust of bitingly cold wind announced they were back in the snowy landscape. The sun was beginning to set, making everything glitter orange. Instead of continuing on to the ship, Ben stopped.

She stopped next to him, tilting her head. “Are we watching the sunset?”

He didn’t answer, reaching for something at his waist. She thought it was his lightsaber for a moment—did he mean to give her a lesson?—before she saw it was something else.

It had a lightsaberiness to it—but it was longer than any lightsaber hilt she’d seen. He held out an empty, gloved hand.

“The crystal?”

There was a reluctance to part with it, a need to keep it close—but Rey handed it over, and gasped at the odd sensation of him holding it. She could feel it, from both the crystal and him. What kind of connection was this?

He fiddled with the hilt, seemingly unfazed by the odd resonance tying the three of them together—and then he was done. He straightened, handing her the long weapon.

“You can light it if you want,” he said. The sunset burnished his skin, made his eyes look bright. She could sense his anticipation, tempered by the earlier awkwardness.

The heft of the weapon was good, heavy and the right width in her grip. It seemed double-sided, built like a staff instead of a sword. She twirled it and found the slider she knew from Luke’s lightsaber. After a pause, she lit it.

The hum of energy seemed to go straight through her. She stepped back from Ben and twirled the weapon again, lit bright blue this time. Snow hissed and steamed where twin blue beams skimmed it.

“How does it feel?” Ben asked, watching closely.

“It feels…” She stopped moving briefly, peered at the mechanism at the centre of the long lightsabre closely. Surprise lit her insides; she looked up. “This is two weapons!”

“Locked together, yes.”

She closed her eyes, let her senses sweep the strange lightsaber. She sensed her crystal, yes—but there was another, hesitantly pulsing in time with the other.

“There are two crystals,” she said, opening her eyes.

He nodded.

“You chose the other one?” Hers was brighter, bolder—but his was a perfect complement. She didn’t know whether to be angry or touched that he’d presumed.

“I didn’t know how double-bladed lightsabers were constructed for Jedi instead of Sith,” he said. “I’ve only ever known one crystal to bond to someone at a time. It was just a theory, but it seems like it worked.”

“Because of our bond?” she asked.

He nodded very slightly, and her stomach swooped with butterflies. It was awkward to acknowledge it, even aware of it as they both were. It seemed too much like belonging together.

She took another step back, weapon held confidently now. She lifted her brows at him, smiled slightly.

He took in her expression, her stance, looked at the snow beneath their feet and the weapon at his belt. For the moment he still stood with his hand around his wrist, peaceable. “You want to relive old memories?”

She shivered. That had been in a forest, in the almost-dark. This was at sunset on a snowy hill; not that similar at all.

“I want to make new ones,” she said. She twirled her lightsaber again, careful of its lit ends. She’d have to remember it wasn’t her staff, but in time this could be good. This could be even better than Luke’s old lightsaber. She postured some more, tossing the weapon and catching it. “Unless you’re scared?”

He unclipped the lightsaber at his belt, taking it up. When he lit it she swore she could feel the throb of it straight through her, all this Force stuff conspiring to overload her senses. She grinned nonetheless—and made the first move.

He met her, red locking with blue. Time and again, she pushed for an opening and he met her. At first she held back, scared she’d do damage by accident, but with their minds linked the way they were—their bond a hundred times stronger than it had been in the forest—it seemed impossible to fight. It was a dance instead, the steps anticipated on both ends despite the awkwardness of fighting on a slope. She felt the pleasure he took in the movement echoing her own, the rightness, even as they fought for the upper hand uselessly.

She didn’t know how long they might have kept it up if she hadn’t jumped back and tripped on the damned too-long cloak. She managed to put out the saber fast so it wouldn’t get her by accident, but the snow was going to soak her—

Her fall slowed. Ben had raised his free hand and used the Force to catch her seamlessly. He stood above her as she levitated, the bitter wind pulling at his hair. His face was flushed with exertion and the cold.

He was utterly focused on her.

Her breath shuddered out, body heating with something other than embarrassment. “Thank you.”

Very slowly, he set her back on her feet. He hadn’t touched a hair on her head, but the press of his will lifting her was like a caress. It was all too much and not enough; icy air in her hot lungs stung her, impatience throttled her.

His eyes in golden light really were something else.

An ache in her hand told her how hard she was gripping her unlit lightsaber. She made a conscious effort to relax her fingers, taking deep breaths. She glanced down the slope at the ship.

“Should we head back?” she asked. Soon the sun would dip; it would get even colder.

“We should.”

He didn’t make a move. She waited for him to say more. He did, eventually.

“I’ll be gone for a while after I take you back,” he said at last. “A week. You should train as much as you can.”

It felt like another loss, like Yarrow announcing her escort duty. _Another ally gone_. “Can you tell me what you’ll be doing?” she asked.

His shoulder came up in a half-shrug. “Treaty talks in one of the mid-size systems.”

It was so vague, and his thoughts weren’t accessible just now; she remembered her fear from before. She tried to sense whether he was lying. “You’re not looking for the resistance still, are you?”

“Your friends are safe from me,” Ben said, seeming annoyed. He straightened, and began to walk down the hill. Was he offended? Really?

The closed-off expression stayed on his face even when they were back in the warmth of the ship, and his signature in the Force felt withdrawn. The excitement from earlier had dulled to something resembling a mutual headache, with her wondering what she’d done to offend him and him silent and moody. Was she meant to apologise for being suspicious?

No—even if he wanted her to she wouldn’t. It was a fair question.

She gazed down at her new lightsaber as he worked at the controls. She was grateful for the gift, and still embarrassed about the intimacy it presented. She wanted to thank him—but the mood had soured. Instead she sat down in silence.

The ship lifted off, and soon they were racing out of the atmosphere. The silence was oppressive, and accompanied them through hyperspace and back into normal space. The time to talk was almost up, the battleship in sight, when she managed to fight her way through her own angry reticence.

“Be careful out there,” she said stiffly. Would he bite her head off for it?

He glanced at her, jaw tight—and ducked his head. “You as well. I meant it, about the practicing.”

“I will,” she promised. With no one on the ship she trusted, she’d have to be at the very top of her game.


	18. At Loose Ends

Rey slept with the chair blocking the room’s entrance and her lightsaber within hand’s reach. _Slept_ was perhaps an exaggeration; she rested in fitful bursts, her body tuned to the violent intent she sensed everywhere around her. She would have slept better near an active volcano than she did on a First Order ship.

Her days passed according to Ben’s directive: training, both of the mind and the body. Most of the time she was alone, but Tal reappeared on day two as an occasional sparring partner. Ceeta, for her part, was scarce except when she showed up to batter dummies for an hour straight with a variety of cruel-looking weapons. Rey guessed it was an intimidation tactic, and didn’t pay too much attention.

Her growing isolation was heightened by the bond’s reluctance to draw taut, even when she thought of Ben as hard as she could. They were meant to be mastering this thing between them, able to summon each other with a thought—and yet the game had changed. It made her scared, wondering if something was wrong. Had he been injured? She knew he was alive somewhere, but like he’d said when she went under, _alive_ could mean all sorts of things.

He was the Supreme Leader, though. Reason suggested she’d hear it if something happened to him, and Tal and Ceeta never mentioned anything.

There was an itch inside of her, though, telling her to go and see for herself—to take the lightsaber she trained with every day and hop onto a ship to track him down, using her feelings as a compass. She thought she’d be able to find him that way eventually—but first she’d wait out the week.

She’d waited for much, much longer for something that was just a voice, a promise, but somehow this was harder. She’d become impatient at long last, unwilling to wait.

It was her body betraying her, she thought. Her mind could wait, her soul could wait—but her body had gotten used to the stimulation of his presence, the waves of pleasure and frustration. It was an addiction the way others got addicted to alcohol or spice.

She couldn’t exercise the need she felt out however hard she tried. Her muscles ached with exhaustion every moment of every day, and it still wasn’t enough. She felt bounded inside her own skin, and it made her long to bust out of her mind, out of the familiar part of the ship.

She found herself lingering in corridors no more than a day after he left, half an impulse removed from charging to the hangar with the use of Ben’s attention-deflecting trick, and stealing a ship. It would take ages to track Ben down if he was on the move, and there was no binary beacon to locate the resistance if she wanted to meet up with them instead, but all she had to do was go to the rendezvous point and she’d be reunited with her friends in no time. The problem was that she’d ruin her cover here, and it wouldn’t be because she needed to see Finn or Leia or knew how to turn the tide of the war; it would be because she’d needed a distraction.

So she lingered, practicing tricks. For all her fantasies of simply walking out of the First Order she couldn’t seem to master Ben’s attention-deflecting skill—her _no one is here, you can’t see me_ ’s seemed to draw the eye rather than repel it—so she focused on something else, something that might be more personally useful. For once she wasn’t copying Ben; she was copying Luke.

Messing with her own Force signature.

It was tricky, but she was beginning to get the hang of it. At first it made her feel sick to even try, but once she stopped trying to remove herself from the Force entirely—like Luke had—she began to find ways of cheating, making herself small, hiding in plain sight. It made no difference to her physical form, but it would make it harder for other Force-sensitives to know where she was. With her suspicions about Ceeta’s allegiance—and anger—she thought it might make a life or death difference one day.

In the meantime, all Rey knew was that Ceeta couldn’t sense her on day five when she followed her, trailing her from the sparring room. To deflect attention without the Force Rey wore a peeved look that kept passersby from making eye contact, and Ceeta parted techs like a flat hand through a sand sculpture ahead of her anyway. Rey barely had to work; all she had to do was disrupt her own signature so a distracted Ceeta would overlook it.

She nearly ruined it all when Ceeta came to an abrupt stop ahead of her, making Rey jump for cover conspicuously. After a pause to breathe heavily but silently, worried she’d been caught, Rey sidled up the mostly-empty corridor until she was as close as she could be without giving herself away, then took out her reader to fiddle with until Ceeta continued on.

Ceeta didn’t continue on. A black droid zoomed past Rey’s feet, a stormtrooper’s reflection looked up at her via the polished floor and then away—but Ceeta stayed where she was.

Rey sensed a cold, flat presence and felt a shiver go down her spine. She peered around the section she hid behind—and retreated immediately, sucking in a breath. The impression hadn’t lied; the person Ceeta had stopped to talk to was General Hux.

Rey’s ears strained, trying to catch their conversation, but over the usual hum of a large ship she heard only the cadence of their voices and not the words. The conversation was low and urgent, and Rey read it as two allies conferring rather than enemies meeting. Listening to it, her soul wanted to slip out through her feet; her stomach twisted with nauseous anxiety. Ceeta and Hux aligned against her and Ben could spell trouble, _real_ trouble. It wasn’t just a danger to her.

For a span of moments she envisioned her future as if it was already written. She saw herself killing them, found herself calculating her chances. Hux would be easy; Ceeta would be hard. Ben wouldn’t be there to back her up.

Then she took a breath. Ceeta knew the truth of Rey’s origins, could make Rey stand trial in the First Order for “killing” Snoke, and perhaps she was telling this to Hux—or perhaps they spoke of something else. Rey couldn’t panic yet. First she’d have to ascertain what had been said in this murmured conversation, and then she’d make her decision.

If she had to kill them both to save herself she would; she knew that much. But first she had to be sure. She couldn’t read Ceeta’s mind without giving herself away—but Hux was plain as the polystarch bread she’d grown up eating. His mind would be bendy, sure, but it would be penetrable, and with any luck he wouldn’t notice the intrusion.

If she could manage it. If she could find him again, after this, without being escorted back to her room by increasingly suspicious guardians. She wouldn’t have many chances.

She left the corridor behind, and planned her next move.

 

 

The daily meditation she’d done over the past week gave Rey an edge. She could locate presences on the ship, track where people were. Her sleep deprivation made her mind fuzzy, adding to a general feeling of desperation, but the overheard conversation forced her into action once she knew which way to go. She knew Hux’s movements from the day before, and could locate him with a thought. She could get to him.

She kept repeating that to herself: she could get to him, she could do this, she could assess the damage. She kept her lightsaber clipped to her belt. If what she read in Hux’s mind suggested a mutiny, she’d kill him then and there—or later. Whatever was necessary. Her palms sweated with fear, but she was determined. Ben was out there already, out of her grasp, the bond unresponsive.

He was in danger if Ceeta’s allegiance had switched; they both were. And she was the only one here to get them out of it.

When Hux came close to her part of the ship, she left the sparring room. She was dressed in Tabri’s clothes, soft maroon blouse tucked into thick trousers, boots sturdy and well made—but she left the cloak of the knights off. Her introduction to the First Order had been without mask or cloak; she wasn’t meant to seem like a knight like the others.

She could be an arrogant girl who went to confront the general of the First Order instead; she’d have to be. Shiny hallways disappeared below her feet. No stormtroopers challenged her in the new part of the ship she walked to, and she tried not to look surprised by this as she honed in on Hux’s location. A little further… a little further…

He was striding down the hall when she caught up with him, though luckily he was striding away. It was close enough.

She reached with her mind, punching through the measly defences of an ordinary mind. She expected a jumble of thoughts and impressions.

Instead she sensed emptiness—a room of boxes tightly shut. The impression faded.

He was getting out of her range.

“General Hux,” she called after him, stopping. He whirled, eyes wide for a moment before his face settled into a mask of boredom.

“Yes?”

“I’m unsatisfied with my room.”

His jaw clenched. “Is that so? I’m sure the quartermaster will _love_ to hear all the ways in which it falls short. However, I—”

“You’ll hear,” she said, stepping forward. She kept him stationary, seizing his muscles so he couldn’t walk away. The look of boredom withered away in momentary panic; she’d stilled his throat so he couldn’t swallow or speak.

She released her hold slightly, sweating. How was she meant to pretend at offense and invade his mind at the same time? _Could_ she do this unnoticed after all?

Her tactics had been bad. If she could have thought clearly, could have planned it out—

It didn’t matter. She was committed now. Only through force of will could she stop herself from reaching out physically as she invaded his mind. It couldn’t be obvious; he couldn’t know what she was doing.

“It’s too small,” she said. “I need my own private, attached room to practice. And a window.”

She kept her eyes open, but her vision faded away. The empty room of Hux’s mind was back, filled with sleek First Order chests and trunks and boxes of different sizes. Whenever she mentally approached a container, she felt a wave from it—a wave of pain, or heart-splitting triumph, or frustration, or some other sharp-edged emotion. In which of the boxes would she find his interaction with Ceeta just days ago?

It couldn’t be done, not like this. When she began to hear again, he was saying something about luxuries. She had no idea what.

“Are you planning to overthrow the Supreme Leader?” she asked instead, throwing caution to the wind. Instantly she sailed into his mind to see what impressions popped up. A snake-hiss of _yes_ warred with a shouted no that seemed directed not at the question but at his own mental answer. He was used to this, had borne it with Snoke. He couldn’t answer this arrogant woman, this new wildcard of Ren’s. The boxes in the empty room whirled, rearranged themselves, stayed locked with determination. On the outside of his skull, his jaw clenched tight.

“If you try that again, I will call my whole _army_ to—”

She raised her hand, ready to be done with her tentative attempts. She’d rip him apart, and maybe Ben wouldn’t be needed to tear the First Order down. She’d have what she needed regardless of Ben’s wants.

The triumph box was close to hand; with brute force she could crush its walls, letting the contents out. She did just that, dropping into Hux’s memories. A red beam fired across the sky, Hux’s body alive with what it meant, what it would mean for all the people who squabbled and destabilised: one fierce light and they’d be gone, all gone, out of his way—

“ _Apprehend her!_ ” a distant voice commanded, and Hux— _no, Rey, Rey—_ felt hands grip her arms. Her breath came in short gasps, a flush beneath her skin. She shook with the knowledge of all that death—how all that death had felt like a triumph. Briefly she’d felt it too: the need to exterminate, to rid the galaxy of these places where chaos festered. These people were trash; it was better this way, cleaner. A billion potential obstacles removed. Was this how Ben saw the world too? _Individual lives are just a distraction_ , she remembered him saying, and her heart burned with heartbreak, rage—

She felt restraints on her wrists. With an effort she blinked Hux’s memories from her brain. The restraints didn’t panic her nearly as much as a look into Hux’s head had. Doubts made her weak, made her tremble. Rey was no stranger to death now, but to look at lives as an inconvenience—did Ben really see it like this—when he told her to let the resistance die on their ships—

She elbowed one of the Stormtroopers next to her, summoned her saber to hand. When she lit it her would-be captors fell back, and Hux’s face went red with rage.

That was when she felt it—felt Ben again, somewhere beyond the ship. He’d returned.

“You _will_ be punished for this,” Hux said, even with his men unwilling to approach. The cuffs did nothing; she’d let the guards put them on her the last time when she was marched to Snoke’s throne room.

She dropped the cuffs from her wrists with a thought now, the mechanism unlocking. They fell heavily between her feet. “Will I now?”

A tentative crowd had gathered, standing on Hux’s side. If they all came at her, they’d have a chance, but she’d cut many of them down before that chance manifested.

That was, of course, when she felt Ceeta’s flaring presence behind her, coming down the hallway Rey had travelled to get here. Ceeta arriving from the other side made Rey take a step to put the wall at her back, lightsaber held with casual readiness.

“I don’t know why the Supreme Leader doesn’t cut you down where you stand,” Rey told Hux. She channelled Ceeta in her zeal; these were things Ceeta had thought about her, said about her. “Where do your loyalties lie, general? I know where mine do.”

The resistance—but the resistance needed Ben to be the Supreme Leader, not Hux. The First Order couldn’t be allowed to fall into Hux’s hands. Rey had no entry point there; she couldn’t tear anything down with Hux at the helm.

If Ben was forced out of his position instead of relinquishing it, he’d never be hers. But she tried not to think of that as something she wanted; it would hurt too much to assume he was hers and lose him again.

Ceeta approached, masked and cloaked, making Rey’s nearest shoulder burn with tension.

“What’s this?” she asked, looking from Rey to Hux.

“Just getting to know the general,” Rey said, flooding her voice with a harsh edge before Hux could accuse her of treason.

“Lock her up,” Hux told Ceeta. “She’s trying to weasel around. I don’t care what the Supreme Leader says; she can’t ignore the chain of command like this.”

Ceeta drew herself up. “We’re not in your chain of command, _General_.”

Hux looked as surprised as Rey felt. Not allies, then? Or allies who were keeping their alliance a secret?

His eyes narrowed, but Ceeta had already looked at Rey, her energy crackling. “Though I’d gladly lock her up. Where?”

Rey adjusted her grip on her lightsaber. She’d gotten used to the feel of it so quickly, loved the way it hummed with eagerness when she practiced. She held it up slightly, the threat implicit.

“I’d think twice about that,” she said. Ben was in the hangar already; she could feel his approach in every muscle of her body. There was a flare of his energy against hers, the elation of reunion almost upon them. A whole week was too long; everything inside of her ached with his absence.

But he was here now—almost here. And he was about to find her in a standoff with his people.

Ceeta seemed to notice his approach as well, and adjusted her stance. Rey sensed a burst of anticipation, quickly tempered by frustration. Whatever deity Ben had been to Ceeta once, he was human now thanks to his involvement with Rey, his new weakness—and Ceeta didn’t like the transformation. She wanted him to go back to what he’d been before.

Hux looked at the crowd around him, seeming undecided. He’d just been undermined, but he couldn’t be sure he could get the upper hand here. This moment would go into a box of frustration in his mind, Rey thought.

There was a buzz, and Hux looked at his comlink. A voice informed him of Ben’s arrival—and the atmosphere in the hallway shifted. Suddenly the situation before was diffused, because the person who’d have to deal with it was here.

“You will explain yourself to the Supreme Leader,” Hux told Rey, eyes narrowed.

“Gladly,” Rey told him, taking the aggressive olive branch. This way Hux wouldn’t lose too much standing, and she wanted to see Ben as soon as possible anyway. She needed to ask him about the bond, what had happened, and she needed to tell him about Hux and Ceeta talking and—

Well. There was a lot to catch up on.

Hux and Rey walked on together, though not quite side by side, and the crowd dissipated. Ceeta joined them. Hux wasn’t leading Rey to the hangar. Twisting corridors brought Rey to a meeting room set up with chairs but no table. No one sat; no one talked. Rey looked into Hux’s mind again.

Panic was contained within his tight-lipped surface. First Kylo had gripped power before he could, and now this woman was getting in his way—

The door to the room opened, and Ben stepped through. He looked like a stormcloud descending.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Hux stepped forward. “Your new pet attacked me in plain sight of my people. Tell me, how do you expect me to keep order if—”

“Tabri?” Ben interrupted, and a shock went through Rey. She could feel how odd it had been for him to speak that name instead of hers.

Rey folded her arms. “I was doing research.”

Ben looked between them all. She sensed frustration and anger. “What’s been going on here?”

“All quiet on the front, my lord,” Ceeta said—not as adoringly as she might have once. There was a bite to her voice.

Ben looked at Rey, eyes searching. He seemed—strange. What had been happening on his end?

“I don’t trust him,” Rey said, pointing at Hux.  

“You need to bring her in line!” Hux snapped, gesturing back at Rey. “She can’t be allowed to undermine my authority; she has to be punished for this.”

“Your opinion has been noted,” Ben shot back, voice low. He looked at Hux and Ceeta. “Now leave us.”

Rey read Hux’s anger, his certainty that Ben was making a mistake. For a _woman_ , of all things, and not even a particularly beautiful one. He ought to take what he wanted and get back to—

“I won’t ask again,” Ben hissed. After another moment of tense silence, Hux and Ceeta moved. Where Hux’s anger cracked and fizzled, Rey felt an odd lack of it in Ceeta. She felt empty to Rey’s senses, and then the doors were closing again, and Rey and Ben were alone.

He looked at her, the frustration she’d sensed earlier undimmed. His jaw worked.

“What have you done?” he asked.

“I saw Ceeta and Hux talking like they were on the same side, and I needed to know what she’d told him. I didn’t mean to make it so obvious, but when the time came it seemed—”

“Not that.” Ben walked forward as if he meant to grab her by the arms, but stopped at the last moment. He loomed, staring down at her. “Your signature… the bond…”

“Oh!” Rey held up her hands to look at them, as if her Force practice might be written in her palms. “I’ve been trying this new thing, so people can’t notice me by my signature.”

With a hint of smugness she demonstrated, thinning herself out. She pushed herself as far away as she could, taking up her surroundings in the place of “her” and leaving only the smallest part of herself. It was as successful an attempt as any until he grabbed her biceps, distracting her from the exercise.

“Stop it,” he said, stare intense. She felt the wrap of his energy around hers, pushing her back into herself. Her knees buckled, her body suddenly overwarm and weak. He didn’t stop pushing, and she shuddered with reaction as her energy was forced back into her own body.

She sagged in his grip, but he had no trouble holding her up. Why had the return of her energy made her so weak? It hadn’t worked like this before.

“Let me down,” she gasped out, and he helped her get down onto the floor. She shifted to her knees, aware of the sweat on her brow as she stared at the floor catching her breath. “What did you do?”

“I put you back together,” Ben said. For a moment his hands chafed her, as if he was trying to rub warmth back into her hot-and-cold flashing body—and then he must have realised what he was doing, and stopped. He let her go. “You’ve been pulling yourself apart.”

“That’s stupid,” Rey reasoned, drawing up her knees and putting her head between them, the way she always had when something unsettled her stomach. “Luke was able to remove himself completely, and he was fine.”

“Luke’s been working with the Force for longer than you’ve been alive. Longer than _I’ve_ been alive.”

She looked up from the darkness she’d sunk her head into, and saw Ben. He stared at her with concern, now, his anger gone. He sat on the floor with her quietly, the hum of his energy a warmth against her. Her body was starting to feel almost normal again.

“I thought…” Ben started, and stopped. He tried again. “I knew you were still here, but the bond didn’t activate. You weren’t trying this on purpose, to stop it?”

Rey looked at him incredulously. Stop the bond from activating, now? It was one of her best weapons; she wouldn’t throw it away.

“Ceeta’s dangerous,” she said by way of explanation, hoping he could sense the truth of her words. “I wanted a way to hide.”

His relief spilled against her—relief and concern. She could feel his desire to gather her up and hold her close, curbed only by thinking of last week when…

His thoughts withdrew from her.

“What did I do that bothered you so much?” Rey asked. She sat up, mopping at the cold sweat on her face and neck somewhat ineffectively with her sleeves; she wished she had the trailing fabric of her old clothes to use for it.

“Nothing.”

“Is it because I asked about the resistance?”

“You need rest,” Ben said, standing up. He held out a hand, and after a beat she took it to lift herself. She didn’t like letting it drop once she was standing, but to hold on would be an admission she wasn’t ready to make.

She stumbled a bit, and his hands rose, but she steadied herself before he could offer assistance. She looked up. “You’re not worried about Hux and Ceeta?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because Hux is too smart to kill me before it’s expedient.”

Rey’s mouth twisted. “Being killed isn’t the only thing you should be worried about. There are other ways to sabotage—”

“Rey.”

She stopped, the frantic energy inside of her dulling.

“You need to rest.”

She needed to understand why he was so calm, and how he’d known what she was doing, and how to fix it—but maybe rest wouldn’t be unwelcome. She gazed down at the polished floor.

“How did it all go? Out there?”

There was a pause, the air between them tense.

“It went well,” he said.

 _Of course_. His plans for dominating the galaxy continued.

“Good for you,” she said, and remembered the sensation of him putting her back together, gathering her energy and putting it back in. How could he be so careful with her and so ruthless in his treatment of the galaxy? His highest-ranking general was a gleeful mass-murderer.

How could she want someone like Ben? She was no stranger to ruthlessness, anger—but at the cost of so many innocent lives?

It was reprehensible. There was no excuse.

And still she wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Order? First DISorder am I right ladies? [cough] Thank you for reading! Please rec to a reylo friend if you enjoy~ (we'll have some kind of resolution SOON I promise! it's only been forever)


	19. Belonging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to all of you who have encouraged me so we could finally get... here...! Thank you as always, I hope it was worth the wait.
> 
> Note: if nsfw makes you uncomfortable, you can ctrl+f to "it was a long time before" whenever the heat gets too high for you to read! I hope you enjoy~

_Rest_ , Ben had said. He’d come back from on high, and told her to rest.

Did he understand how difficult it was for her to nap on a First Order ship?

She got a little shut-eye, in accordance with her orders—an hour, maybe. Her body cried out for more, but wouldn’t allow her to drop off even with the door blocked by a chair and her lightsaber within reach. After her hour of sleep, she freshened up and made her way out into the hallway, the lights of the ship heralding an oncoming night-cycle. For all her insomnia, she felt like a sleepwalker.

She went up a staircase, following Ben’s Force-signature until she was standing outside his door. Had she decided to come here, or was it instinct? Nothing for it now; she knocked.

He opened the door a second later. Their eyes met, the way they had a million times before, and Rey felt like explaining herself. _I have trouble sleeping_ , she imagined saying. But of course, he knew. There were so many things they knew about each other.

He held the door wider, stepping aside, and she stepped past him.

“Where’s your Darth Vader shrine?” she asked, looking around for it. Ben’s room was as plain as it had been in their Force sessions, no trace of the helmet she’d seen in his memories.

“I redecorated,” he said, striding past her before she could think of some cutting response. He sat at his desk, pulling up a reader, and she noticed his hands were gloveless for once. Just the sight of those bare hands made her swallow desire.

His manner, by contrast, was casual—inviting her to explore—but she could sense the tension in him.

“I’m here to spy,” she said. She didn’t know what impulse made her lie, but she stood by it as she moved to peer at the reader over his shoulder. “You told me I could keep an eye on the resistance from here, and make sure you were telling the truth about leaving them alone.”

“Be my guest,” he said, not adjusting his posture.

She held still behind his shoulder. The tension in him was from her proximity, she thought—not from fear that she’d uncover some essential part of his plan. She read the first few lines of the report displayed on his reader and was inclined to agree. It _was_ superfluous information, completely useless to the cause.

After a moment of furtive hovering she sat down on the bed, still bone-tired despite the nap. She looked at the covers she sat on longingly. The bed beckoned, promising better sleep than she might find in her own, and she wondered how her unwelcome Force connections with Ben after Crait could have led to something like this: her willingly creeping into his room, wishing she could sleep in his bed. She remembered him drawing her here as if to intimidate her.

She remembered the scent of his sheets from that time—the standard First Order detergent overlaid by his natural scent.

Her body betrayed her with a spike of arousal—warmth between her legs. Her hands bunched in the sheets

Still Ben didn’t ask her why she was here. There were people who would take her presence here in Ben’s room as a declaration of sexual interest, a move. Rey didn’t know how to make moves, so of course this wasn’t one, but what else would most people attribute it to? Would they assume—like Ben, rightly—that she was just in need of a safe, quiet space? A distraction from her own thoughts?

She was grateful for his understanding.

 _And if he’d misunderstood?_ she asked herself. If her knock at the door had been answered not with silent permission but with a kiss? If he pressed her up against the wall of the entryway, if he slid his leg between hers—would he be wrong to think that was what she wanted when she came here?

She wanted it. This hadn’t been some gambit to get it, but she wanted. Every day she practiced with her lightsaber she felt the hum of rightness, the harmony of her soul and his echoed in the paired crystals. He’d anticipated as much when he designed the weapon; he had to know.

He did know—didn’t he? But for some reason, he was keeping a careful distance physically. The only time he’d slipped up was in his mind.

“You can sleep here, if you want,” Ben said.

Everything inside of Rey stilled—and then she felt her face fill, her blood pounding beneath her skin. “What?”

“I won’t be—I need to catch up on all this.” He held up the reader, shoulders tight, not looking at her. “You can—if it helps to be here…”

His halting clarification trailed off into tense silence. She realised what he’d meant: that she could use the bed because he wouldn’t be using it any time soon. It was a kind offer, not a proposition. Of course not; he wouldn’t have sounded so easy if he’d meant… Rey pushed her tongue against the sharp edge of one of her molars, needing the pain to cut through her own awkwardness. Sleep here, in his bed, while he read reports.

It would be a welcome change from her usual fearful naps. She remembered earlier, when he’d put her back together, seeming to know instinctively how to do it. She felt safe with him, no matter the war between their sides.

Not just safe, though.

Why not get under the covers, at least? She stood up, taking her boots off and setting them near the door. Next went her belt, lightsaber clipped to it, but that was the extent of her stripping. All her other clothes were soft enough to sleep in, and she pulled back the covers gingerly.

Ben said nothing; his face was turned from her, only part of his unscarred cheek visible as he focused on the reader, but she thought she saw a flush creep up his neck as she slid beneath the blankets.

There was smug satisfaction in intentionally entering the space he’d pulled her into once. Just now, she felt like she had full control of the situation. For all his power, all of the First Order at his feet, he didn’t know how to respond to her in his bed.

She didn’t know how to respond either—but at least he didn’t seem to realise it.

Force, it smelled like him. Just as she remembered. The scent of him surrounded her, pulling at things inside of her.

She would feel safe with Ben sitting watch, but in his bed her tiredness faded. Her pulse quickened.

He kept ignoring her, studious in his avoidance. Still she felt how his attention was turned to her; every part of him except his physical form was positioned to take her in, alert to her every move.

He had to feel her attention glued to him just the same, though she wasn’t polite enough to keep her eyes averted. Their thoughts were shielded—when had they both learned to hide so effectively?—but impressions still slipped through. It was a mirror of longing, acknowledged on both ends but left unspoken. It buzzed in her blood.

With their connection, she wouldn’t have to _speak_ to communicate. The potential there kept her breathing shallow, her blood red-hot. All she had to do was let her thoughts slip through more clearly. Would he ignore them?

“Ben,” she said.

“What?” He sounded so suspicious, with his voice ragged like that.

“You could turn the First Order around. Without dismantling it. If you did it slowly, you could have everything.”

She didn’t add _I could have everything_ , but she thought it—thought of him joining her in the bed, hands sliding up her sides beneath her clothes, no more barriers between them. Her body ached, arousal tightening where she wanted him most.

“Stop it.”

Had her thoughts slipped through? She hadn’t been careful. Embarrassment burned her, despite her desire to incite him.

“I have enough…” He paused for a moment, then: “…sycophants.”

 _What?_ It took her a moment to parse his meaning, and then there was a sick twist in her stomach. “That’s what I am to you?”

“What else is it called when someone tries to steer by…” She sensed frustration, anger, _want_ , and then he dropped the sentence before he could say something he’d regret. Instead he said: “I never credited you with this kind of insincerity, Rey.”

 _Insincerity_. Yes, if only her desire was insincere.

“I need the First Order,” he said. “For now.”

“For _what?_ ”

“To bring balance. Just like I told you—just like I asked.”

He’d turned, finally, and she was sitting up so they could have their stare-off. The tight set of his mouth and shoulders accused her of duplicity, but she hadn’t been duplicitous. She glared.

“ _How_ will you bring balance?”

“Why can’t you trust me?”

“Because you don’t value people’s lives! You would have left the resistance to die, when it would have cost you nothing to save them!”

“They were my enemy—”

“They were my _friends_!”

Ben’s jaw set. “Yes. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

Why did he make it sound like an accusation? She fired back, just as angry: “Yes! Was I meant to hide it? If you care about me at all, can’t you see you have to care about them?”

“I told you the past—”

“Don’t feed me your lies! You’re the one who needs to let the past go, not me!”

They broke off, glaring. She became aware of herself—kneeling upright on the bed, breathing hard—only when she noticed his posture: a breath from standing and towering over her, looking just as angry as she felt.

“I know they’re the reason you’re here,” Ben said, voice dark. “You’d kill me if you had to.”

Would she be able to? She was glad she didn’t have to make that decision.

A sick feeling of betrayal lodged below her solar plexus—a feeling not her own. Ben’s. He felt like she was betraying him, like every move of hers was a subtle manipulation, and he couldn’t help playing into her hands over and over again, wanting her too much for his own good, desperate for her approval despite everything. This stark look into his uncertainty gutted her.

He was right to be uncertain. She was here for the resistance. Her _mind_ was here for the resistance. Her heart… well, it had other ideas.

“I need you to care about other people,” she said, pained by the trembling in her own voice.

He said nothing, but she felt his mental response viscerally. _Why?_ his mind thundered. What had other people ever done for him? Where had they been, when Snoke turned his own family against him? When fear of their opinions kept his parents from telling their own, conflicted son his heritage?

What were strangers to him? To her? Why did _she_ care, when strangers would have left her to rot on Jakku?

“I can’t explain it,” Rey said. Her jaw hurt from clenching it. “Except that, if I didn’t have the Force, you would have killed me just as easily as anyone else. You wouldn’t have hesitated.”

“But you do have the Force,” Ben said.

“And is that the reason you care about me?” she asked. “If I lost my power tomorrow, would you have me put to death as a hindrance to your order?”

He stood, finally, fists balled at his side. Even standing on her knees on the bed she was dwarfed by him.

“What if you’d been born without your powers?” she continued fearlessly.

She felt his flinch before she saw it. An old wound, that: nights spent wishing he could just be normal, that the strain in his parents’ faces was over the usual stuff parents worried about instead of the dark side, Snoke, the pain and darkness festering at the heart of him. He looked down at Rey kneeling upright on his bed, staring up at him with challenge in her dark eyes.

The longing he felt _hurt_.

“Ben,” she said.

His own name thudded like a blaster shot into his chest. He looked at her, pained.

“The resistance is…” she started, then trailed off. Her eyes dropped, cheeks flushing.

 _Always the resistance_ , he thought, the agony in his chest flaring.

She met his gaze squarely. “The resistance is a good excuse.”

“What?” he snapped.

She swallowed, but it didn’t diminish the thickness in her voice. “Do you think I want to turn you just for them?”

He searched her face. Ben had spent a lifetime being manipulated by Snoke—but Snoke was a master at games. Ben ought to realise that Rey was… Rey. She charged in. Couldn’t he see that, sense that? Didn’t he know?

“I don’t care about light and dark,” she said. “I don’t think anger is always bad. I don’t think leaving people to their own devices is always good. But people shouldn’t live in pain. People like me or you or anyone. Whether they’re Force-sensitive or not. Finn, he—”

Ben’s hurt had been fading as he listened to her, but at Finn’s name his jealousy flared, and she gritted her teeth. Instead of trying to explain her feelings for Finn, the difference between how she felt for Finn and how she felt for Ben, she pushed them on Ben mentally. Finn was the first person who’d ever come back for her. He was her best friend.

She glared up at Ben, daring him to resent her for it. They’d been enemies when he’d cut Finn down, and Rey could forgive him for it—but if he hurt Finn now, it would be the end of everything. There would be no coming back.

She pushed a memory into his mind: her last conversation with Finn.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Finn asked, drawing back from their hug. They were on the Falcon, the familiar hum of the ship underpinning their conversation, someone’s clanking footsteps sounding from elsewhere; they ignored it.

Rey shook her head. “I’m not. I don’t think—I don’t think I’m being smart. But I have to, Finn.”

Finn’s mouth drew up on one side. “Well—if you have to you have to.”

“No flying into active cannons while I’m gone,” she commanded.

“I’d tell you the same if I thought you’d listen,” Finn said, and they laughed. Ben ought to understand the conversation from context. He was the cannon, the risk Rey took. And she couldn’t be told to stay away.

She stuck in a flash of now, today, for good measure: how Ben’s presence made her skin draw tight, how being with him felt like coming home. Another memory: his dark eyes shining back at her in the firelight that time they’d touched hands on Ahch-To, when he’d listened like her every word was precious. The moment at the exhibition when she’d seen him again and needed to feel him against her, her soul suspended by his gaze.

Need—but also a love she couldn’t control. Hope, that one day they might work things out between them and not burn up in the fire they seemed destined for. That they’d find an understanding.

Ben’s jaw was clenching visibly, the muscle in his cheek ticking.

“You’re not my friend,” Rey said, breathing shallow. “You’re something else.”

“I want to trust you,” he bit out.

She steadied herself on the mattress and stood, taller now than even he was. The bed made for uneven footing, and she set a hand on his shoulder for balance. His eyes fluttered at the contact, mouth pulling.

“Can’t we have this?” she asked, hand fisting in the fabric of his tunic. Her eyes traced the scar she’d given him, bold on his face. It looked like a mark of ownership, and the way he never tried to hide it made an ugly, possessive urge flare inside of her. She wanted to trace the scar down past his collar, pressing her lips to his neck, his chest, not in apology but in appreciation.

A shiver went through him, echoing into her through the bond until it felt like her own body’s reaction. His fists unclenched slowly, and a hand came up to settle on her hip. She saw herself through his eyes—the strength of her body, yes, but also the way he missed her old clothes. He remembered the X of her scarves draping across her, reminding him of her defiance as she faced Snoke.

Her breath caught in her throat. _That_ was the image his mind caught on? Her useless anger as she faced an enemy she couldn’t possibly defeat?

His thoughts banged around his head too furiously for him to shield, and she picked them up before he could snatch them back. She felt his desire to pull her close, to claim her body the way their souls had claimed each other—but it would mean nothing if it was another tactic on her end, another power struggle between them.

It would mean nothing if it was just for him, and after all this time he needed it to mean something.

“Ben.”

Another blaster-bolt to the chest; his eyes met hers, his hope and his pain suspended in them.

“I won’t join the First Order,” she said. “Not really. And you won’t join the resistance. But… join _me_. Put _me_ first.”

“You just said that means putting the resistance first.”

“It means not letting anything terrible happen to them on your watch. You said I’d stand with you. Let me, then. Make it so I can stand with you.”

His hands were shaking. “This is another gambit.”

She flung her mind open, let him shudder under the ache of her hope. Her vain hope, that he’d make his goals bearable. That they’d figure this out together.

 _You’ll be the one to turn_ , he’d said, and she had. She’d turned to him not once but twice, knowing it might not work out. Knowing she might compromise everything she was, everything she cared about, just for a second chance at him. It wasn’t tactical; it stemmed from the needy desperation of a child, no matter how much she tried to justify it.

She’d always, always wanted to belong. And the resistance was only one part of that belonging, now—now that she’d tasted another kind.

“Please,” she said. How could he look into her and still say no? Still think she was manipulating him? She wanted his voice reassuring her, his hands, his presence and his attention and—

His other hand grabbed her so he held her on both sides, and his face came to rest against her sternum. His hands held her so tightly his grip would bruise, but she didn’t care. She could feel his resistance crumbling.

“Rey,” he said.

She did as she’d never done before, letting her hands slide up into his hair—totally accessible to her now, soft and thick and smelling lightly of soap. She didn’t understand how contact with Ben rendered ordinary scents erotic to her, but she knew that the mix of his natural smell with anything made arousal tighten between her legs, familiar pressure building.

He moved, face brushing her skin, and then he was looking up at her, her hands in his hair and his mouth easy to reach if she stooped. His mouth—reddened and wanting.

She bent to press hers against it, and his opened instantly to grant her access. Her shyness from their last kiss was gone, replaced by need, and she swept her tongue against his. He tasted like nothing, like water—but somehow it was still sweet. She drew in a ragged breath, hips hurting in his bruising grip, and kissed him more. Faster, harder. Clumsy and with teeth, which clacked against his when he responded with the same fire.

It didn’t matter. Her inexperience— _their_ inexperience—didn’t matter. It was terrifying, to think this could be allowed, could be in reach, but if it was them against the world—if he truly might consider her first, even if he hadn’t agreed outright…

They pulled back enough to look at each other, and his dark eyes meeting hers were hypnotising, still unsure but heartbreakingly beautiful. They dropped to her mouth, her collar bones, down—and back up. She saw him swallow.

“Rey,” he said again. “Are you…”

 _Are you sure_ was how that ended, she sensed in his mind. He wasn’t worried about the resistance or the First Order or her allegiance to either, this time. His fear was much closer, much simpler. _Are you sure you want this?_ he was thinking—aware of his body, their bodies, his own inexperience—and the dark corruption that clung to him, to everything he touched: Snoke’s long shadow.

He wanted her with every atom of his being, but he wanted her without ruining her. Without passing his own darkness into her. It was why he’d balked at the thought of letting her create a sith weapon, why he’d been unable to touch her without her initiating the contact—

“Yes,” Rey rasped. The corruption was a figment of his imagination, planted there by Snoke and kept alive by Ben’s own will to believe something inside of him was wrong. There was nothing to fear from him as long as he didn’t fool himself into thinking he was destined to fail here, with her.

He shuddered, pulling her hips closer, and at a motion from her he seemed to understand what she wanted. He pinned her against him so she could take her weight off her legs, wrapping them around his waist instead. His stance didn’t change, as if the added load was nothing to him—like she weighed nothing. Their mouths met again, the distance even shorter this time.

A benefit of their new pose was the fact that his pinning her against him had pushed one of his hands against her glute, grip tight, and the pressure of his grip there was making her see stars. She’d never ever wanted to be touched like this by anyone—by anyone else.

Only him.

“Ben,” she whispered into the kiss, legs tightening, and finally his stance was challenged—by his reactionary shudder. He placed a knee on the mattress, slowly lowering her down, but he didn’t stop kissing her, and she didn’t stop pulling at his hair. _Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben._ He was hers now, firm in her grip, between her legs. She’d have him now.

He caught the lust-hazy thought, and she caught his reply: a sighed _yes_ that made her taste his surrender on her tongue, his willingness to give in to her and his desire to give her everything, anything.

In this they were united. She wanted his everything, his thick body and his hands, his mouth—

Finally she managed to let go of his hair, but only to pull at his clothes. Where were the fastenings? Could she rip his tunic off if she pulled hard enough?

He stilled for a moment. He moved them on the bed so they weren’t lying across it, and then he pulled back enough to pull at his own clothes.

 _Yes, yes_ , she thought, triumph zinging through her veins—and then his hands paused. She felt a wave of fear so strong she thought something was wrong, at first, and then she recognised it.

Insecurity. Renewed fear that he wouldn’t be enough.

She reached up to hook a finger in the dip of fabric at his collar, hoping to unzip his outer layer herself if he was too stupid to realise that everything about him— _externally_ —pleased her greatly. She managed to get it half undone, her breath getting shocky with want as she looked at his bare skin. The desire at her core was almost painful; she could feel wetness coating her, soaking her underwear. She braced for future embarrassment, when he found out how much she wanted him.

He looked down at her, the set of his mouth sulky with uncertainty.

“I want you,” she said. “Of course I want you, please—”

His hands caught hers, and gently he helped her pull at the zipper, helped her unhook the waistband. She could still sense his fear, still. How could she want him? he wondered. They belonged together, but how—but it didn’t matter, she did, let that be enough—

She pulled his tunic down his arms, off and away, abs clenching to make short work of the task. After a breathless moment he helped, and then she could rest her palms against his skin. So much more skin. _Ah, yes…_ She caressed his shoulders, his pecs, his arms. He shivered into her touch, nipples drawn tight. His eyes were lidded, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“You’re so…” she started, and didn’t know how to continue. Perfect, solid, everything she’d never known she wanted. She wanted him inside of her already, hard and unyielding. She wanted her flesh to give around him, to take him in. She shivered.

“I want you,” she said. “I want you, I want you—”

She caressed him, half-frenzied, as he kept still above her. She wanted her own clothes off, but she didn’t want to take the time. His skin was a map of scars, scars she couldn’t bear to look away from. Her thumb dipped into the circular scar on his shoulder, the flesh shiny and raised.

“Admiring your work?” he asked, his voice so deep she felt herself fall into it. Her body pulsed with desire.

“Yes,” she said, unrepentant. She loved her marks on his body, even if they weren’t enemies anymore. They made him more hers.

Perhaps that was an egotistical thought—and of course he intercepted it. To her surprise she felt it reflected in him. He wanted to be hers, wanted the marks. The scars had barely bothered him, even when they were new. They hurt—but he didn’t mind seeing them in reflective surfaces. The scar on his face only bothered him when he felt vulnerable, and that had more to do with his face being visible.

He’d wear her marks all his life, and it seemed appropriate.

“Ben,” she whispered, and pulled herself up by his shoulders urgently. He understood her meaning, and pulled at her shirt—up her sides, hitching at her shoulders, then off over her head, off off off—

His thoughts and movements stalled at the sight of her breast band, prettier than any she’d worn as herself. It was dark brown and cupped her breasts perfectly, though she barely needed the support. She saw his eyes flicker along the tops of her breasts, taking in the curve of soft skin.

He wanted her. He wanted to lose himself in her—

She moaned, tightening her legs around him for a moment before shifting, wriggling down his body until she could feel him at the apex of her thighs...

 _Ah._ There. She’d known it, knew his arousal matched hers, but it was one thing to know and another to feel it. She felt him rock-hard between her legs, cradled now against her cleft. He groaned at the increase in contact, hiding his face in her neck.

“Rey,” he rasped, trying to keep his hips from rocking into her. It was too fast, too soon, he wouldn’t last—

She wanted him to last too, long enough to come inside of her, but she sensed the fever-pitch of his desire and knew more contact might send him over the edge. She tried to still herself, but her own arousal called at her to chase her pleasure, to rub her chest against his and tug at his hair, rub against—

Ben groaned again, and his hands—his bare hands, blessedly bare, the palms callused—held her arms down, fingers in the grooves of ancient scars. He moved down her body, mouthing at the peaks of her covered breasts, biting softly on one side before continuing down.

She sensed his intent inside of his mind and squirmed. His mouth there would be… it would be…

“Please,” Ben said.

Her legs clamped around him—around his chest, as it was. He moved to hold them open even as she strained to close them, her desire too great to be laid open like this—even clothed. It made her vulnerable.

She clenched her jaw when his nose brushed her clit through fabric, followed by his mouth. _No, no, no…_ She’d come. She’d come around nothing, like so many times before, and feel the lack of him. That wasn’t how she wanted…

His open mouth breathed against her, hot steam passing through. She felt the press of his tongue against the fabric of her trousers. He could sense her desire, how she didn’t want it like this—but it bumped up against his own wants. He wanted to taste her on his tongue, and he wanted to prepare her. He knew enough to know his girth would hurt, if he didn’t—if they didn’t—

She shuddered with pleasure at the image in his mind, a memory: Ben’s cock thick in his own hand, the dark thatch of his hair framing it, how he wanted to press it inside of her and feel hot slick welcome in response. It was easier in fantasies, where it never hurt her. Here, now, all he could think was that the welcome clench of her walls around him would spell pain for her.

He knew she was a virgin; he’d felt himself mirrored in her in that too. He knew what people said about first times, especially for women.

He didn’t want her to bleed for him.

She almost laughed. Didn’t want her to bleed? People died every day fighting for or against the First Order—and he didn’t want her to feel slight discomfort as he entered her?

It was sweet, maybe. In a way—but it fed her impatience. She wanted him to split her open, didn’t care about measly things like pain.

His fingers hooked in her waistband. Her mind stopped spinning, stopped balking at the vulnerability of having his mouth on her, and she set a foot down to lift her hips. He drew her trousers down, underthings coming along. His face was right there, right next to her nakedness—the slick proof of her arousal—but all she could think now was how much she craved contact, with things this far along. Her earlier reluctance had faded. His hands, his mouth, his cock—it didn’t matter. She barely cared, as long as there might be some relief for her swollen skin.

When her trousers were off, it was his hand that touched her first. She trembled, nipples hard beneath the fabric of her breastband, hair standing up all over her body. It was such an innocent touch, and yet already he had to feel her slickness, her desire for him. He cupped her, his breathing as harsh as hers.

“Say something,” she commanded.

“What would you like me to say?”

It was the thickest she’d ever heard his voice—like all his words had to struggle out of his throat. She bit her lip.

“You want me,” she said.

“More than…” He trailed off, moved his hand. She felt his secret desire, and canted her hips permissively.Instead of cupping her folds he allowed two fingers to shift—into her cleft, and then, as he found the source of her wetness, into her. The pressure of his thick fingers made her arch her back, pressing against the flat of his hand.

“Yes,” she whispered. He pushed into her up to his first knuckles, coating his fingers in slick, then all the way. She rose her hips to meet him, glorying in the sensation of a part of him inside of her. Oh, she should have known. She should have known his fingers would be better than hers. Much, much better.

“Ben…”

He scissored his fingers, opening her, and she shut her mouth. She bit her lip—and then his breath on her clit heralded the touch of his mouth, and thoughts stalled. A warm, innocent sensation of lips—and then the flick of his tongue tasting her. She shuddered, muttering his name again. Her hand came up to clutch at her breast, legs tightening on his head. He had to push them apart, and they trembled where he held them at bay.

“Rey,” he mumbled against her, with another soft swipe of his tongue, a pulse of his fingers. He needed to widen her—there was no way he’d fit if—

Pleasure inside of her, echoed through the bond, froze his movements. He trembled, momentarily paralysed. _Don’t come_ , he thought at himself, jaw clenched tight. His fraying control built the fire inside of her, the tightness around his fingers. All he had to do was keep moving, just slightly. He read it in her.

That was cheating. He knew just how to… move…

Her eyes shut tight, her muscles clenching. His thick fingers, his soft mouth, his ardent will to please—they all conspired against her. The pressure between her legs built and built, pulling so her skin pebbled as if with cold, but she was hot, so hot, too hot, and his thoughts echoed this. Inside of her it was scorching, his fingers slick and held into her hot core, and he wanted—oh how he wanted—

The shudders began a moment before the fever pitch of pleasure brought her fully into the present, and then she was bucking, her legs clenching around his head, walls clenching around his thick fingers. She was coming, needing more, wanting more, but he’d needed this. He couldn’t hurt her with his size, the differences between them. If their souls fit, their bodies had to as well. He’d make them.

His movements were languid, like he could wait all night, all day, for her to wind down, could keep licking and kissing through however many orgasms—but she didn’t have that patience. She needed more. He knew it from the frantic movements of her body.

She arched her back again, filled with intent, and at a gesture he helped. Together they managed to pull her breast band off, stalling him again. His head fell, and then she felt his tongue against her nipple, mouth open wide like he wanted to consume her. He would taste all of her tonight if he had a choice.

She exhaled, nearly in pain as he switched to her other breast, his clothed cock pushing between her legs as he attended her. Her naked wetness had to be soaking the front of his trousers, but he didn’t seem to care. The fabric took on her slickness, and his cock pushed perfectly against her. It filled her with longing, with awareness of how empty she was. Her panting was animalistic, not Tabri from that rich family but Rey the scavenger, a hundred percent Rey the scavenger, always hungry for more, always searching—

He pushed halfheartedly at the waistband of his trousers at the back, then gave up. He wanted her too much to stop kissing her, his mouth at her neck now, their chests pressed together, and the task of undressing him fell to her. She used her feet, at first, then clenched her abs until she’d rolled up enough to use her hands. With coordination brought on by desperation she managed to push his trousers down far enough to bare his cock—and then hot-flushed skin was pressing against skin.

 _Oh_. He fit her perfectly, like this, nestled against her slickness. He was so large, but it was the perfect weight, the perfect size—of course they fit. Of course.

He hid his face in the crook of her neck, and when she scrabbled ineffectively at his back with her hands he caught them, twining their fingers together and pinning them above her head.

Now, he pulled back just enough. Enough to look down at her. His face was flushed brightly, his eyes shining in silent question. Could she really mean it, that she wanted him? A horrible image of her turning to ash beneath him clouded his vision—or else that she’d blacken and calcify, ruined, the bright spark of her put out because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, couldn’t keep his body from wanting her—

She hoped her disdain showed in her face at the intercepted image. She tightened her legs around him and canted her hips. How could he be so careful with her, and so careless with everything else—himself, his subordinates, the lives of strangers?

The answer was simple and clear in his mind: nothing else had value to him like she did. She was everything he wanted and couldn’t have.

He let out a sound, a pained breath, head ducking. Their startling eye contact was gone, erased by sudden shyness—but then his hips pulled back.

Her breathing stopped. Instead of the hot length of him she felt his tip, tracing against her. She bit her lip and freed her hand to reach between them, needing to nudge him. Her fingertips encountered the hot flesh of his cock, and for a moment she was distracted by silk skin over steel, how odd this part of him was compared to her own self-contained body.

 _Later_. She could explore him properly later, after she’d had him. Once, twice, three times—she wasn’t sure how often he’d let her have him, but she’d try to make it as often as could reasonably fit into a night. She pushed at him until his tip aligned with her entrance, and tightened a leg to ask for more—for him to move forward.

He inched into her just slightly, and her breath shuddered out in time with his. Her impatience from earlier was brought into stark relief.

He _was_ too big for her, despite her wetness. He’d known it and she’d been ready to blow past it, sure her flesh would part for him. She tightened her legs, and he moved forward just slightly more—and she felt full to the brink, just with the tip of him parting her.

There was so much more of him to take in. It might hurt—and she wanted it to.

“Keep going,” she said, pressing kisses to his hairline, grabbing at his back. _More, more_.

“You’re…” he said. “It hurts you.”

“It’s just because—” _oh,_ he rocked slightly, and _oh_ , that felt good—so full, with an edge of pain, her tight body giving only a little around him—“it’s just because it’s my first…” _Ah!_ “Time.”

It was meant to hurt. She could feel a burn inside of her, pleasant and achey. She wanted this pain, her body moulding around him. He was perfect, perfectly crafted for her.

She brought a hand down between them, not to pleasure herself—though her clit pulsed with a need for contact—but to feel the steel of him sliding into her. His hot flesh was ungiving, an iron bar sinking into her body. She loved it, poking and caressing until embarrassed pleasure made him pull back then thrust into her harder, stealing her breath.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“It hurts,” he said. “I can feel how much it hurts. This isn’t—”

He was a breath from retreating from her, and she tightened her leg around him to keep him there. He was wrong; it barely hurt. Her senses were flooded with the feel of him, his skin, and when he pushed in one last time it was to the hilt. She gasped at the grind of his pubic bone against her clit, the coarse hair she could feel trapped between them, the aching overfull feeling inside.

Messy and perfect. Shaped to each other. His nerves were screaming, telling him to move, to thrust home. He trembled with the effort of not listening, of starting slow. It was her first time.

“Do it,” she said. “I don’t care if it hurts, I don’t care—”

For emphasis she pushed up to meet his painfully slow thrust. The unfamiliar stretch of him inside of her was pleasure made real, a homecoming. The touch of fingertips on Ahch-To, the reach of a gloved hand inside a starship.Finally they could meet completely. She could feel that familiar spike of heat growing inside of her again, a second orgasm building.

His mind was caught on all the wrong things, though. He was scared to move, scared of losing control and hurting her more. He’d known he was too big, too much, too clumsy with the things he cared about—

Rey exhaled through her teeth, loud, and pushed at him to roll them. She managed, just, and he looked shell-shocked beneath her when he realised what had happened. Like this she could look down at him, see smooth skin and hard muscle and the mess she’d made of his hair, how it stuck to his face, how his lips were red and slick with kissing. She could see the scars she’d admired before.

He was hers. It could have been the burn of him inside her that told her, but it had more to do with the way he looked up at her, like she could kill him with a thought and he’d accept it.

His eyes flickered down, taking in her body, her scars. She watched him swallow, felt the surge of him inside despite how still he held himself.

She began to move, grinding down against him slowly, lifting herself up only to come down, breath shuddering out, hands balanced on him to brace herself. With some coordination she managed to lean forward, lengthening her spine so she could kiss him. His harsh breath gusted against her lips a moment before their mouths caught. His tongue still tasted sweet, with a hint of her own musk.

His hand moved to squeeze her thigh, hard, then moved up to her backside. She bit her lip at the bruising press of his fingers, giddy with it. The clench of his hand spread her, allowed her to take him in harder.

She propped herself up enough to see his face as she moved, caught on the scar across his features. She traced it with a fingertip.

“Did it hurt?” she asked.

He shuddered beneath her. “Of course it did.”

“Did you mind?”

She’d already read that he didn’t, that fascination had made him long for the violent girl who didn’t hesitate, his resentment reserved for himself.

“No.”

“You never tried to cover it up,” she said, eyes still tracing the scar. It was such a stupid thing to be so triumphant about—but she was. 

“This is what you want to talk about just now?” he managed, muscle ticking in his cheek, and she couldn’t help a grin. It was a strange time to talk about it, he was right. Their bodies were moving together, adjusting slowly—his guilt was fading at her continued lack of concern, her control over the situation—and they might have discussed anything under the sun or said nothing at all. For his part, he could barely think, let alone talk; his mind ran in tight circles that refused to slow, constantly bulldozed by how good she felt, how perfect she was for him, the pleasure that streamed in from all their points of contact, from the wrap of her tight body around his cock. He’d never felt anything like it before.

Through him, she felt it too. It was overwhelming, crashing over her again and again—her own pleasure and his mixing, until it was almost unbearable.

She supposed she was giddy, flushed with a hundred types of triumph, and needed an outlet or else she’d ride him raw, too hard and fast and delirious. That was why she’d talked.

“What would you like me to say instead?” she asked softly, forcing slowness.

The suggestiveness in her voice went straight through him. His hands clenched on her body, thoughts halting so she wouldn’t be able to read them. What? What was it he wanted, that he couldn’t ask her for? She sensed sudden vulnerability in him, which made protective heat flare up in her.

Did he need reassurance? If he did, she had it in spades. She just had to force the words out, unused to offering comfort.

“I—you feel so good, Ben,” she said, the words truthful but embarrassing to say. She didn’t meet his eyes. “You feel…”

“You do,” he murmured. “Rey…”

Somehow it was the same voice that had told her _you’ll stand with me, Rey_. 

Suddenly he could no longer bear the distance between them. He sat up, keeping her in his lap, and they were pressed together once more. The new angle made her ache with fullness, and ache to be touched—and he moved a hand down between them. His thumb found her clit, reading her needs in her the way they’d once read loneliness and conflict in each other.

There was no loneliness now. They were breathing the same air, gasping against each other’s skin. Her pleasure mounted, hands on his chest, his shoulders.

“Ben,” she gasped out.

“Again,” he said against her neck, mouth open. She could feel his teeth. “Come for me again, Rey.”

His low voice in her ear would take the matter out of her hands. She loved his voice—so dark and intent. Even before they’d been able to touch his voice had made her feel like he was pressing into her, caressing her.

“Only if you do,” she bluffed.

“I will. I can’t—”

He lost his words as they sped, frantic now, her fingers digging into him. He held her tightly with the hand that didn’t press her, didn’t rub circles of pleasure into her. Oh, she could die like this, and it would be fine. She’d been right to join him again, right to lay doubt aside, she had him now, she’d have him now—

Pleasure mounted, amplified in their joined minds, and she bit his neck hard, nearly sobbing when a second orgasm began to shudder through her. She didn’t know what she whispered to him, and didn’t hear what he whispered back. It sounded like gasps of her name, praise, soft nothings.

He seemed to grow even larger inside of her, only bearable because of her own fevered pleasure, and then he was gripping her with both hands, pushing up into her, and she sank down to meet him. His release shook through him a moment later, his strong body reduced to clenched muscles and short breaths. She loved it, loved his vulnerability in that moment as he spilled inside of her, her walls still pulsing to take him, taking and taking and giving nothing back.

It was a long time before they both came down. Her arms wrapped around his naked torso, one hand wound into his hair. Her legs ached with a desire to close, but she didn’t want to move away. She sensed how much he wanted this too, the wrap of her body around his. There was no home for him, not anymore, but this felt like one.

She never wanted to go back to her room. She didn’t want to be alone—now or ever.

“Can I sleep here, still?” she asked.

“Of course.”

She’d wanted to go again and again, to have him as often as she could before duties claimed him, but postcoital glow had weakened her limbs, made her eyes heavy and her head fill with fog. All she wanted was to be held as she fell asleep.

With great reluctance she drew back. His eyes were downcast, not meeting hers, so she held his face. Eventually they flicked up to meet hers. She’d had him. And she wanted him again.

But maybe they had time. Her body ached, her exhaustion pulled at her.

She kissed him. Soft, slow. His hands on her hips cradled her close.

She drew back. “I need to…” she started, tipping her head at the bathroom. He let her go, and with stiff legs—so stiff—she climbed off him. They could barely take her weight, and there was an ache inside of her from the stretch of taking him.

He flinched at the sight of her stumble, worry in his eyes when she looked back at him.

“Shut up,” she said, though he hadn’t said anything. She liked the burn in her body where he’d been.

In the bathroom she relieved herself, splashed her face, then took a moment to crouch on the floor exhausted and naked, hiding her face in her hands. She’d… she’d… with him…

Her face flushed hot. She’d been so shameless, so eager. How was it she always managed to jump into things like this then considered her actions after?

Oh well—it was too late to change anything now.

He’d pulled his trousers back up by the time she came back, and his tunic was on but open. He stood next to the bed uncertainly, watching her come back into the room without a stitch of clothing on.

She crossed her arms over her chest, though she was too naked to hide anything effectively. “Will you—stay? Until I fall asleep?”

He looked at her then away, a flush on his cheeks. “It’s my room. Where would I go?”

“In the bed,” she clarified. She got beneath the covers quickly, shy now. “Hold me?”

She watched him swallow—then shrug his tunic back off. She was pleased at the gesture, and even more pleased when he joined her. She moved in close, and he drew her against his chest, letting her rest her head on his bicep.

He was so _solid_. She loved that about him.

“Thank you,” she mumbled. Her eyes closed, but her senses didn’t dim. She felt his warmth, smelled the scent of his skin and their lovemaking. It was comforting, and as new to her as sex had been.

He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing—just held his mouth to her hair and breathed deeply. It was enough for now.

She felt herself relax at long last, sure she was where she belonged. Tomorrow doubts might creep in, and she’d remember where she was, what ship she was on and all the people who’d kill her if given half a chance.

That was tomorrow, though, and this—this quiet space where Ben held her—this was today.

She wished it could last forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at mysecretfanmoments.tumblr.com or (reylo sideblog!) forcefingeys.tumblr.com.


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